


<Uninstall>

by Zombieheroine



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Mythology/Religion, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Grief/Mourning, High Council, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Political Drama, Rebuilding, Recovery, Slow Burn, Social Commentary, Social Issues, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Terrorism, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, War, Widowed Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 214,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombieheroine/pseuds/Zombieheroine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Omega Keys revive Cybertron, and the battlefront of the Autobot-Decepticon War moves back to the homeworld. Troops of both sides roaming the galaxy start to return, and the war goes on. But after eons and eons of seemingly meaningless battles over the devastated Cybertron and energon scraps everyone is feeling tired and bitter, and the will to fight is at all-time low. This is the perfect time to dig up some old traditions and laws and push the guilt and responsibility on the shoulders of those who started it all, thus allowing the rest to move on towards the dream of a peaceful future.</p><p>But getting rid of the consequences and burdens of the past is a long, painful process, far from happy and even further from the end, and no scapegoat is strong enough to carry away all the grief, loss and grudge of a people with a history of such oppression and cruel war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my largest writing project yet - as in "ever". This is the project I am pouring all my love for Transformers: Prime and my OTP into, so you are in for quite a long and exciting ride, dear reader! I have been writing this fic for a little over a year now, it's still WIP, but with the help of zinteyro as my beta-reader I bring this work to you. Editing each chapter will be a lot of work, but I aim to publish somewhat regularly. 
> 
> I will update the tags as the story progresses. There will be a couple of other pairings (some of them only mentioned or past), but archive warnings won't change, and the rating is for things to come. In practice this means no rape/non-con themes or overly graphic violence will jump at you later. Otherwise I try to keep the tags spoiler-free! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are very welcome, so don't be shy with either one! Kudos and comments are the lifeblood of a writer, and I would very much like to hear your thoughts and know if you liked my work. I welcome feedback, both positive and constructive criticism, analyzes, ponderings and questions and simple regards. I am also reachable on tumblr with my pen name as my URL. 
> 
> That's about all the info I can think of you needing, dear reader. Now I can only wish you happy reading and hope you enjoy yourself!

Cybertron thrummed with life once again. The Omega Lock pumped energy to the planet's core and long-dead lights shimmered alive, springing across the globe and activating the old protocols that had laid dormant for eons. 

Every single one gazed around, taking in the icy blue light illuminating the rusted ruins all around them. It was home that had been lost and dead for their millennium long exodus, and it took them all aback.

Megatron's smug grin turned into a malicious laugh. “Look at this, Optimus! Look at the power of the Decepticon cause!” 

The Autobots turned their optics to the warlord, all full of hate and will to fight. Optimus steeled himself for the sake of a good example and didn't answer.

“Have you lost your will to fight now, Autobots?” Megatron taunted, his officers grinning by his side. “Imagine what a power like this can do! Nothing is out of our reach now! Not even your precious Earth!”

Optimus flinched at that, and it didn't escape Megatron whose laugh only grew in volume.

“Oh, does that bother you, Optimus?” the warlord yelled. “How about we move to conquer the first colony world for the New Cybertron right after? The power of the ancients will clean out the organic filth for us!”

The threat wasn't empty either, Optimus knew that. Puzzle pieces slipped into place as he took in the Omega Lock and the space bridge and realized that Megatron truly had a plausible chance of following through with his threat. 

Their human companions banged the glass of their containers, attracting Optimus's attention away from the smirking and laughing Decepticons.

“Leave our planet alone!” Miko screamed, her voice muffled by the glass as she kept hitting it with her small hands, desperation shaking her otherwise purely defiant voice. Jack's voice joined the chorus of objections as he pressed his palm against the glass, helplessly watching as Arcee hugged the container closer to her chassis, her face reflecting the same anger and shock as her companions. Rafiel didn't have words, just fear and grief as his small form sank to his knees on the bottom of the container, Bumblebee beeping his worry at him. 

Optimus couldn't bear to watch it, and definitely couldn't allow the Decepticons to follow through with their plan. No matter the cost.

He straightened his spinal strut and took a slow but confident step forwards, directly towards the Starsaber stabbed into the ground. The laughter of the Decepticons stopped as he took another step, and then another until he could reach for his blade and pull it out of the ground smoothly like it was simply resting in a scabbard. 

Megatron raised the Dark Starsaber and stepped forward as well, growling through his grin: “Now we're talking.”

Optimus advanced towards the enemy line completely without disturbance, and Megatron waited for him. Their soldiers were torn between watching the tension build between the leaders and the miraculous rebirth of their planet still on-going all around them, weapons ready but not completely charged. All three of Megatron's officers slowly inched away from the proximity of the warlord and the Prime.

Megatron and Optimus Prime stood on the opposite sides of the Omega Lock, both holding their swords up in front of them and looking each other in the optic. There was a wordless conversation going on between them, the two discussing whether or not their fight would resume right here, and the contradicting interests prolonged the moment.

Optimus considered his failure to stop Megatron from being the one waking Cybertron. It could still be stopped, but the price would be him plummeting their home back into darkness again and that would be a line he wasn't willing to cross. 

Megatron stared back at him, alert and ready to attack or defend, but the fragile Omega Lock between him and his opponent kept him still as well. He stared back at the Prime, equally tense and considerate of the Omega Lock, and nudged his pede slightly to the left. Optimus registered the movement and mirrored it. Then Megatron moved an actual step aside and Optimus understood the idea.

Slowly, dreadfully they moved away from the lifeline of their planet, all the while facing each other and keeping their weapons at the ready. 

Megatron threw a glance at the Lock, then turned back to the Prime and gave a triumphant grin. He had succeeded in what he set out to do today: He had resurrected Cybertron, he was the true savior of their home. This deed he would exploit to every possible end, he knew it and knew Optimus guessed as much. 

They simultaneously agreed on the proper safety distance and stilled again. Optimus's hold tightened around the handle of his blade, his gaze full of determination, and Megatron answered it with a cruel grin. Together they launched another attack so in sync it was impossible to tell which one took the first step, charged towards each other and clashed the blades in a loud screeching noise and an explosion of pure blue and tainted purple. 

The attack of the leaders woke up every other bot from their trance and they turned to seek out the enemy once again. The battle went on, now lit up by the glow of Cybertron, but still as hungry for destruction as ever.   
The Autobots were sheltering their fragile human friends in their glass casings and couldn't launch an assault so they were slowly making their retreat as Smokescreen tried to cover for them all. Lucky for them Megatron and Optimus and their private struggle created a block in the middle of the plateau and the Decepticons couldn't easily go around them, and they all made it off the stand of the Omega Lock and down to the Sea of Rust.

There was plenty of cover available around, rusted ruins, buildings and roads here and there, piles of scrap and even some old battle walls that bordered the road sides. They dived in the shelter of an old battle line and a mostly collapsed build and its rubble, set the humans down quickly and resumed a post where they could in turn provide covering fire for Smokescreen making his retreat behind them.

The Decepticons were seeking after a permanent line on the ground as well, backing away across the plaza to the opposite side of the Autobots to the cluster of abandoned shuttles and high walls with barbed wire on top. Officers Soundwave and Knockout held their line as they retreated while overly enthusiastic Starscream was giving them air support from above. As well as the Autobots, the Decepticons reached their shelter without any more serious damage than scratches on their paint and a few dents. 

Only the warlord and the Prime were left in the middle, lost in their battle like they were in their own private world altogether. Their swords clashed, sprang apart and clashed again, both reckless and infuriated, mindful only about the Omega Lock and its vital systems. Their battleground didn't belong to either side, but the struggle went on even as their soldiers ceased firing and took cover. 

When the first beams of the morning light hit the surface, their battle was still without a conclusion and was starting to settle on a draw. They clashed their swords together for one last time and sent each other flying backwards, pedes screeching and then both made their way to their own side's positions while sending the other on the way with their firearms. 

After that last battle between Megatron and Optimus Prime, their lines took form and neither side moved. Both Autobots and Decepticons sat tight in their cover, watching and waiting the other to make the first move. 

When the afternoon sun climbed to the sky the Decepticon spacebridge fired up and they brought the Nemesis and the rest of their troops through it, settling the ship as the main base further behind their line. 

The Autobots used this time to return the humans to Earth. The children couldn't leave their containers without any means to breathe, and the long night had taken all energy out of them and they had all been napping from the early morning cycles to the afternoon. Jack and Rafael were reluctant but secretly happy to return home to their worrying parents, but Miko wanted to stay until the end and see things through. She wasn't the quitting type, but Bulkhead's calm plead made her agree as well after all. 

Arcee, Bumblebee and Bulkhead made a trip to Earth, and after several cycles of good-byes and collecting their belongings they returned, this time with the two remaining Autobots, Ratchet and Wheeljack, who were both anxious for news.

Until day three, not one single shot had been fired. 

On day eight Decepticons issued a seeker party to scout the sky, and Starscream was seen leading a group of seven others circling the area. They flew too high to be in the range of any weapons the Autobots possessed, but they didn't bomb their positions either. 

On day fourteen the first shuttles of returning Cybertronians arrived, and Ultra Magnus joined the Autobots. His space craft was one of the arriving four, the three others landed elsewhere and raised the worry of possible Decepticon commando soldiers lurking behind the lines. No attacks came. 

On day forty-seven the ceasefire became the longest one they had had in decades. Both sides kept up dutiful watch shifts, but the line started to fall apart. 

Optimus Prime insisted on safety and unity and lectured on the importance of staying alert, but on the other hand he didn't have the spark to deny the restless youngsters exploring the near area of the dearly missed home. He let Bumblebee go on a scouting mission to search their immediate surroundings and allowed Smokescreen to tag along with him. They were to exercise great care, stay out of open roads and be back before the night fall, but otherwise they were free to roam. 

All the other instructions Optimus Prime had given were easy to follow, but the rule to stay off the roads were almost physically painful for both of them. Instead they lurked on the narrow alleyways here and there, passed through the giant building that still stood in the deserted city and with the lack of a better pastime, started to look for something to loot.

”Damn, I haven't ever really driven on Cybertronian roads!” Smokescreen sighed when they were searching the long and wide corridors of a place that had probably been an underground shopping center built around a subway station during the days of peace. The structure with wide corridors and several spacy halls with open fronts was perfect for a business center, through nothing had been sold there in ages.

”I have; not freely,” Bumblebee morsed. ”Only missions. Good roads.”

”Yeah, I can see that. Earth was nice, but their roads are so dusty and narrow,” Smokescreen replied. ”What I would give for a race here at home...”

They entered one of the former shops. It was ruined and blackened from the inside, full of plasma burns and bullet holes and rubble, but the counter was still there as well as some shelves that used to bear merchandise. They looked around, kicking the garbage around.

”What do you think went down here?” Smokescreen inquired while tracing the burned and dented paneling of the wall with his servo. ”Do you think this was a base of some sort?” he asked and perked up, curious and excited.

Bumblebee made a negative sound. ”No. This place: too open, too trapped. No base; Fight, yes.”

”Oh,” Smokescreen said. He would never stop being amazed by Bumblebee's experience. They were roughly the same age, both of them being of the last generation to emerge from the Well before it went dark, but the scout was so much more experienced and mature than he was. Curiously, of all Autobots Smokescreen admired Bumblebee the most. 

”Yeah, I wouldn't want to be trapped in a place like this with Decepticons,” he agreed and tried to image it. In his mind, he saw a group of soldiers seeking cover in an open shop with a front of glass, trying to defend themselves against a horde of Cons hammering their lines. The thought made him feel anxious and he banished it quickly.

”Hey, what do you think this place was before the whole war thing happened?” he asked his friend in order to get something else to think about. 

Bumblebee gave a thoughtful beep. ”Uncertain. Shopping center, not very fine; Working class. Possibility: equipment, entertainment, groceries.”

Smokescreen jumped over the counter and started to dig through rubble. ”Ah-ha!” he chirped up victoriously. ”Wrong!” He gestured Bumblebee to come closer, and the scout did. When he was close enough, Smokescreen lifted up an old rusty metal box and emptied it on the counter. It held a variety of pieces of plating, ranging from small to tiny, and despite the layers of rust, smutch and construction dust each one was beautiful. The colours had faded over time, but every last one of them was decorated with carvings and they were irregularly shaped in a way that didn't have anything to do with functionality. 

”A jewelry shop!” Smokescreen declared. They both started to poke at the decorative plates, turn them over and try to fit them on their frame to see how they'd look. Both of them were too busy inspecting the stuff they had found to notice the third bot who entered the shop.

”Care to toss me a can of buff?” 

Both Smokescreen and Bumblebee jumped and turned, charging up their weapons and targeting the interrupting stranger who had managed to sneak up on them, and in less than two kliks they both had the Decepticon medic in their crosshair. 

Knockout raised his servos in a calming manner. ”Wow, wow, fellas,” he appeased with a slick smile, ”I mean no harm. I'm just searching for some basic maintenance equipment!”

”We don't trust Cons!” Smokescreen answered, and Bumblebee gave an agreeing buzz next to him. 

Knockout rolled his optics and sighed. ”Seriously? It's a ceasefire, act like it! I'm doing what you're doing: Looting while I can. And if I bore any ill will, I could have blasted you two little mechs while you were busy playing,” he noted and had a good point.

Smokescreen and Bumblebee exchanged a look and slowly lowered their weapons, still distrustful but ready to talk their way out of the situation. After all, the Con seemed to be alone – only seemed, but still.

”What are you doing here?” Smokescreen asked. 

”I told you,” Knockout answered and took a step forward, keeping his servos held clearly visible. ”I'm looting. Well, I was sent out to seek for some spare parts, but those I already found - ” he gave his chassis a pat, referring to his subspace, ” - so I decided to look for a little something for myself. Is that a crime?”

Bumblebee shrugged. ”Stealing: A crime.”

”Oh, well...” Knockout chuckled, not really bothered by the accusation. He made his way around them, apparently to the left side of the shop without turning his back to them. ”Technically this stuff was left behind eons ago. It doesn't belong to anyone anymore, so I'm taking some. I'm sure it will be illegal again some time soon, but until then... I'll shine for free.” 

Smokescreen and Bumblebee exchanged another look, both agreeing that this particular Con was a bit weird, and lowered their weapons for good, letting their parts and panels arrange themselves into servos again. 

”That's good,” Knockout laughed and pulled out a box from underneath one shelf. He went through it and found a dented can of something he preferred, slipped it into his subspace and straightened up again. The Autobots kept an eye on him on his way out, and it started to seriously look like they wouldn't have to break the ceasefire. 

Almost out in the hallway, Knockout threw them a glance and smirked. ”Well look at that! Two Bots and a Con walk into a store, no one dies! What a time to be online, isn't it?” 

And with that, he walked away, leaving a very much confused pair behind him. 

”Did that just happen?” Smokescreen asked.  
”Yes. Strange,” Bumblebee agreed and shrugged, shaken and amused. 

It was the first friendly Autobot-Decepticon-contact of the new age of Cybertron, but too bizarre an incident to be recorded in official history.


	2. Home sweet home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the prologue got attention, and that made me very happy. Thanks to all of you who left kudos and comments!
> 
> Here's the first actual, proper chapter.
> 
> **EDIT 5.9.2017!** For new readers: Please feel free to comment on old chapters. I see that hits-number going up and I have no idea who you are!

Smokescreen and Bumblebee debated all the way back to the base whether or not they should report to Optimus about the Decepticon contact or not. On one hand, they had been scouting and made enemy contact, but on the other it hadn't been hostile and there really was nothing drastic to report. Besides, they had been exploring their surroundings so enthusiastically they had let their guard down, turned their backs to a front door and been surprised by an enemy officer. An enemy officer who had kindly made himself known and asked for a can of buffing wax. What would you make of that?

In the end it was Bumblebee's dutiful side that persuaded Smokescreen to report back to Optimus. 

”Any report: Not idle,” the scout lectured his friend, who couldn't make an argument against that.

Their report, however, was a confused cluster of disbelief and absurdity that they told in unison, both feeling silly and fearing they would come across like they were pulling a prank.

But in their base in the standing remains of a tall building across the Omega Plaza in the Sea of Rust Optimus listened to the entire story in complete silence, not interrupting them even to tell them to speak one at the time. His blue optics shifted between them depending on who was speaking while he sat on a remains of a collapsed wall that now resembled a fence made out of glimmering black rock. 

”And we were just exploring our surroundings, sir – uh – for the sake of – um... being thorough,” Smokescreen babbled, glancing at Bumblebee every now and then like looking for support from the more experienced member of the team.

”Found: Old shopping center. Underground. Us: scouting. Made contact: enemy; not hostile,” Bumblebee signaled. 

”Yeah! Uh, we made contact with a Con officer, the... the...”

”Red. Medic. Designation: Knockout.”

”The contact was peaceful, sir! He didn't want to fight. He had his servos up.”

”Enemy mission: Looting.”

”Ah, yes... And ours wasn't, sir.” 

”Didn't fire. Lowered weapons.”

”Yes, he really didn't want to fight! We let him search for the things he wanted, then he left.”

”Report: complete. Sir.”

Optimus carefully studied both of them without saying a word for a long time. The younger bots threw each other a glance from the corners of their optics, uncertain whether or not they had done the right thing back there.  
Optimus' silence was like it always was: heavy and impossible to interpret before he spoke, and it made Smokescreen's pedes itch. 

”You didn't fire at him at all? Not even once?” Optimus pressed after a moment. 

”No, sir!” the two scouts replied, Bumblebee firmly, Smokescreen a bit uncertain. 

”And he didn't fire at you? Please be truthful, this is important.”

”He did not, sir,” the pair confirmed. 

Optimus looked them both in the optics for a long moment, then broke into a smile. 

”Well, well,” he chuckled, ”I have had doubts whether a day like this would ever come. Thank you for bringing me good news, soldiers. Dismissed.”

Bumblebee and Smokescreen saluted, turned around and walked away, both relieved. Now that Optimus had said it, the nature of their encounter seemed obvious. Of course it was good that they hadn't fought or killed anyone. As long as anyone could remember, Optimus had been all about peaceful solutions and non-violent methods, always aiming for a lasting peace amongst their kind, no matter how impossible or foolish that wish might have seemed. But to actually reach that goal, to even get a taste of what it would be like to encounter a Cybertronian bearing a Decepticon mark and not try to blow them into bits was so otherworldly that when it actually had occurred, they hadn't recognized it. 

Everything else aside, it was a rare yet happy incident to get to bring the Prime good news, and both Smokescreen and Bumblebee were glad they got to be the ones to do that.

*

”I can't believe this is among your priorities right now,” Starscream mumbled shaking his helm as he watched Knockout buffing his battle-worn plating. 

”No matter the situation I won't allow myself to succumb into savagery,” the medic answered offhandedly as he applied buffing wax to his frame and rubbed it in with a synthetic fiber cloth that was possibly meant for medical purposes, now a victim of the grounder's vanity. 

Starscream tapped his pede on the ground and hummed disapprovingly, crossing his arms across his chassis. He nudged the can of buffing wax with the tip of his pede.  
”Really, Knockout? Just how much of your subspace is used to carry meaningless junk?” he dryly asked. 

”Oh, this one?” Knockout said and turned the dusty, dented can over. ”I didn't bring this. I looted this from an old station's store complex just earlier today. You know, while I was scavenging for spare parts for our troops.”

”So you were wasting time, as always,” Starscream huffed as if he was a picture of a loyal and dutiful soldier.

Knockout sniggered and lifted an optic ridge at him. ”You're one to talk, Commander. Or has Lord Megatron ordered a scouting flight every half an hour?”

The comment made Starscream sputter and snap into his full height. He leered down at the medic, who innocently smiled back at him.

”The safety of our positions is a serious concern to me!” Starscream snapped.

”Oh I see, I see,” Knockout said, mock-agreeing. ”So it isn't just that a certain someone is very, very happy to stretch his wings again?”

”That would be most... unprofessional,” Starscream muttered, flicking his gaze sideways and quivering his wings. He was moving those more than ever before, Knockout was sure of it. The Commander had been absent from their ranks for quite some time, but not for so long Knockout wouldn't notice the constant stretching, fluttering and up-and-down movement of his wings, as if Starscream was checking they were still firmly attached to his frame. 

”So it would,” Knockout agreed, then winked and continued: ”But you know me, I never say no to life's little pleasures.”

Starscream scoffed again and let out a strong puff of air. ”I don't know what you're- I mean-,” he shook his helm and reset his vocalizer. ”Well... You still haven't told me if your little scavenger hunt was of any use for the Decepticons as a whole.”

Knockout shrugged and went back to buffing his finish. ”Oh, well... I did find some useful parts and tools in an old mechanics storage that hadn't been picked clean during the war. I also took a look at our beautiful yet very messy home planet here and there. Let me tell you, the roads are in awful condition... Oh, and I ran into two Autobots. That's pretty much it.”

Starscream looked like he barely avoided tripping over himself.  
”You- Autobots- What?!” he shrieked.

Knockout gave him a confused look. ”Well, yes. Two of the Autobots, their scout and the newbie intern were playing dress-up in the store I searched for the wax. I said hello, they pointed cannons at me, we had a chat and parted ways, the end.”

Starscream nearly wringed his neckcables as he hastily checked their surroundings for eavesdroppers. The Decepticon line was only orderly enough to pacify Megatron, who would gladly take out his frustration on anyone whom he found loitering instead of working, recharging during the day cycle or – Primus forbid it – playing games.  
This only meant people were sneaky with their pastimes, sitting in groups weapons at the ready but with little game cubes and puzzles hidden away in their subspaces, or board games drawn and dug into the ground with someone sitting on them while an officer was near by. People were getting lazy, but no one had been caught yet, and Starscream didn't particularly want to be caught gossiping and end up as an outlet for Megatron's frustration. 

Knockout had made a medical bay in a sheltered area behind a large pile of scrap metal in a convenient dip in the ground, rimmed with stern rock formations. He was sitting on a boulder with the back of his frame against the sharp stony bank, and Starscream found they were well hidden, not only from the enemy but also any wandering parties of their own. 

He turned back to Knockout, leaned closer and lowered his voice. ”Have you fried the rest of your sensible circuits?! You ran into Autobots and didn't fire? Can you imagine Lord Megatron's wrath if he was to hear you let them go?!”

Knockout rolled his optics. ”Does that really matter now? It's ceasefire. Cybertron's core has been restored. I'm not a particularly nostalgic person, but on occasion I've missed home, and the first thing I want to do when I get there is not to blow something up.”

Curiously the answer seemed to satisfy Starscream. He straightened up once again, clasped his servos together behind his frame and let his gaze wander, mostly looking up to the sky. The vastness of space was barely visible during the day cycle, but a few bright spots of planets could be seen, as well as the pale shadows of Cybertron's moons. 

Knockout followed Starscream's gaze with his own and vented deeply. He hadn't even realized he had missed home this much, every single little thing of it, even the taste of the air. Right now it was pure bliss to cycle air through his vents and register the familiar compound of gas ingredients in it, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how the home sky must have felt to the seeker who had spent so much time grounded and unnaturally bound to a single form.

”If you are worried about the Autobots, Commander, then perhaps a scouting flight would be in order,” Knockout suggested as casually as he could. Starscream narrowed his optics at him, suspecting mockery as usual, but Knockout smiled back at him as kindly as he could.

”After all, wouldn't Lord Megatron be gravely displeased if there was any neglect?” the medic added.

Starscream seemed to catch his drift and smirked. ”Yes, he most certainly would. As you were, doctor,” he ordered and began to stalk away, no doubt to gather up a small party of unfortunate Eradicons to partake in his unnecessary flight mission. 

The Air Commander requested volunteers and immediately had a team of six restless flyers, bored out of their minds and happy to get away from the base. Starscream had trouble telling the standard-framed troops apart from each other so he took a name roll, connecting names to the places in formation even though he would forget them the klik the formation would scatter.

On his command they transformed, took a wedge formation and soared up to the sky in a sharp pitch with basic evasive maneuvers in case of enemy fire, but just like during every flight during the past forty days, there was none. 

*

Wheeljack and Bulkhead were on watch duty as the seeker party flew above them towards the ruins of the nearest city.

“Blasted Cons,” Wheeljack cursed and slumped down on his place. “Just exactly how many sightseeing flights do they have to make daily? Do you think they're up to something?”

Bulkhead shrugged and let out a deep thoughtful rumble. “I don't know, but probably. They're Cons! When they're _not_ up to something would be my question.” 

Wheeljack hummed, agreeing. He was slouching on the ground and throwing only an occasional glance across the barren plaza to the Decepticon positions, taking the watch duty far less seriously than Bulkhead, who was readily armed with his sledge hammer in place of his left servo.

“Yeah, you've got a point there, partner,” Wheeljack chuckled. “This ceasefire is such a joke. We shouldn't be sitting around and waiting for Megatron and the rustbuckets to come up with a plan and attack us, we should be charging their positions and hammering loose circuits out of them!”

“Well, you know Optimus. He's not the one to start a fight,” Bulkhead said, optics glued to the stealthy movement behind the Decepticon line, but the little he could see were just low-ranking guards patrolling the area, not a single officer in sight. It was almost peaceful.

Wheeljack turned his helm toward the sky and watched the slowly dissolving cloud trails left by jet engines. Those could be also seen against the Earth's sky but somehow they looked prettier on Cybertron, even if they were made by Decepticon flyers.

The sunlight hurt his optics and he lowered his gaze. There seemed to be a constant throbbing behind his optics and he couldn't even guess its origin.  
“Yeah, right. This one's status is on-going. We should try and finish it now when our planet lives again. I don't know about you, but I'm not particularly enthusiastic to first revive our planet and then watch it get scrapped again,” he said more bitterly than he had estimated. 

The tone didn't escape Bulkhead, who made a comforting sound and tossed his brother in arms a sympathetic look, which he in turn missed by staring at his pedes.

“You can't know if it comes to that,” Bulkhead optimistically offered and was right, technically. “I mean... Now that Cybertron can support life again people all over the galaxy will start traveling back! And I'm sure they will feel the same way about our home as you do and won't want to fight. Who knows, maybe Optimus has had the right idea all along and we can manage a lasting peace!”

Wheeljack pushed himself up from his slouch again, smiling a cynical smile. “Woah, Prime's ideas have really rubbed on you, Bulk,” he chuckled, shaking his helm in disbelief. “You know as well as I do: Once a Con, always a Con, there's no getting round that one.”

Bulkhead took no offense, simply gave an accepting nod and a noise that signaled 'let's agree to disagree on this', and moved on. “Optimus sure is a bot to look up to. He hasn't lost his faith in his vision and morals during this whole ordeal. That's true strength and deserves to be recognized, especially since I haven't always shared his hope,” he finished, his voice growing hesitant towards the end. He hung his helm as if he was embarrassed to confess his skeptical attitude. 

“No shame in that,” Wheeljack assured, dragging uneven circles in the dust with his pede. “I don't think there's any other functioning Cybertronian who'd share Prime's capability of hope. As misguided as it is in some places.”

Bulkhead tilted his helm, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

Wheeljack gave a vague gesture that was something between a shrug and a wave of servos. “Well... A peace treaty? Maybe, and believe me I would give up both of my servos forever if we'd get peace in return. But peaceful co-existence? Us and the Cons? Well... I'd be ready to tolerate the Cons shopping their energon rations from the same fueling station, I'd smile and wave and all that, I swear. But to forgive and accept them? To leave the war behind? Along with our brave friends who have fallen? Na-ah. That I can't do.”

Bulkhead exvented heavily, his massive shoulders rising and falling with the sigh. He still had his kindest smile on but a sad look in his optics accompanied it. Wheeljack internally scolded himself for whatever he had said to make his friend look like that; he had a tendency to speak his mind without considering the listener's feelings, and in a bot so tuned in with others as Bulkhead the damage done was visible immediately.

“Oh, scrap,” Wheeljack muttered under his breath, then said louder: “Look, Bulk, I didn't mean to sound that cynical. I'll be damned, but the humorless air around boss Magnus is starting to affect me.”

Bulkhead let out a roar of laughter, then waved the issue aside with his servo. “No worries, Jackie. I just got thinking about old friends. I miss the original Wreckers so bad sometimes.”

Wheeljack felt a pang in his spark and grew serious too. “Yeah, you and me both. We were a fine group... Even Ultra Magnus. Don't tell him I said that, though.”

Bulkhead laughed again. “Don't worry, I won't. But hey, when the refugees start coming back, who knows how many reunions we're gonna have! Think about that.”

“Trust me, I have been thinking that ever since I realized bots will start traveling home again,” Wheeljack said, smiling again and gazing wistfully to the sky and beyond that, into space and across the solar systems, hiding in their midst Primus knew how many Cybertronians on their long exodus that was about to come to an end.

“Think about who we might meet!” Bulkhead gushed, almost trembling with excitement. “It was always an occasion worth partying for when team Prime got reinforcements, but that was super rare! Now imagine what kind of a party we'll throw when we'll be united again with dozens and dozens of old friends!”

_And enemies_ , Wheeljack thought to himself but kept that to himself. Instead of dwelling in problems yet to come he guided his thoughts to bots he'd want to see. The list wasn't overly long since he enjoyed his alone time and rarely missed people, but just knowing they were doing fine would be good enough for him. But centuries aimlessly wandering here and there, sometimes going for over a decade without seeing a friendly face even once had started to make even him long for someone to talk to. 

“I don't know about you, but I really want to see Ironhide and Hotshot. I haven't heard a bleep of either one since the battle in Regulon system's asteroid belt, but those two know how to rock!” Wheeljack said and noticed he spoke the truth. 

“Yeah, me too! I'd like to see if they have managed to gather enough driving skills to beat me in an off-road race!” Bulkhead laughed, suddenly nostalgic and his tires itching.

“I highly doubt that!”

The memory of racing was bittersweet. In between missions and during calmer periods of war they had lightened up the mood with games, racing being one of them, and when the roads had been either gone or strictly guarded and used only for maintenance and emergency vehicles they had lost the distraction. 

“Do you have any knowledge of Shutdown?” Wheeljack asked suddenly. There was a bot who made up in noise what he lacked in size. 

“The bot with expertise in explosives?” Bulkhead ensured and Wheeljack nodded. “I'm not sure. When we were still traveling in a larger group and with a bigger space ship we crossed Decepticon ships every other day but tried to avoid a battle. Sometimes we captured radio chatter of those Con ships, and among that were sometimes reports of sabotage with small fusion bombs in their vents. That was Shutdown's MO, but we never caught a name.”

“Hmm... Sounds like him alright. I sure hope he's still around and kicking, that hothead took pretty big risks. I was always amazed how he managed to avoid capture so long,” Wheeljack pondered. 

Bulkhead agreed, though reluctant to consider the worse option and continued: “Well.. I'm sure the Cons would have bragged about his capture if they ever managed that. They wouldn't even have scrambled the signal, they would've possibly just given us a call and told us themselves!”

They both laughed, their joke leveling up from funny to hilarious since they both knew it might actually be the case. 

“Oh, oh, hey! You know who I'd like to meet again?” Wheeljack said suddenly, slapping his servo against his knee. “Captain Override! Now there was a femme who knew what she was doing!”

“Careful now, don't let Arcee hear that. She's very competitive,” Bulkhead chuckled.

“Oh, Arcee sure is tough too, I'm not denying that-” 

“Cause she'd boot our aft if you were.”

“Point there, pal,” Wheeljack agreed, nodding. “But Captain Override took off with a whole fleet of Autobots! And on the biggest space craft we had left.”

“Not only that, I hear she had her crew modify it on the way, giving the Red Star extra boost with better engines and turned some of the cargo hangars into weaponized fighting decks,” Bulkhead said.

Wheeljack whistled. “Yeah, there's one clever bot right there. There's no way in the Universe she would have had her spark snuffed.”

They sat in silence for a moment again, Wheeljack as idle as ever but Bulkhead watched the switch of guards on the Decepticon side. He hadn't ever been able to tell the vehicons properly apart, and if he hadn't been keenly watching their positions and caught the two new soldiers coming to relieve the two already there, he wouldn't have noticed they had changed a shift at all. 

The Cons seemed to be operating under greatly similar working ethics as Wheeljack, which meant they weren't really minding their duties but walked there in the improvised watching pit, slumped down and kept a keener eye out for their own officers than the enemy. 

“You know what I keep thinking?” Wheeljack asked suddenly. His voice had gone quiet, and when Bulkhead turned to him he saw a distant look in his optics.  
“I keep thinking about the bots I used work with or who lived near by. I haven't paid any of them a single thought until now that I have time to sit down and dwell. Weird, huh?”

“That's not weird at all,” Bulkhead said. “And it's probably not the sitting that makes you think, it's just that we're here again. This place has a lot of memories.”

Wheeljack turned his helm, taking in their surroundings as well as he could from their sheltered positions. “I don't think I have ever been here before,” he said, a lop-sided sarcastic smile on his face. Bulkhead gave him a light swap on the knee.

“You know what I mean, Jackie! I mean we're been bouncing around space for hundreds of thousands of stellar cycles. It's only natural that returning home brings back old memories,” Bulkhead reasoned, sympathizing. He'd had his own fair share of memory files popping up during the days of the ceasefire and couldn't claim they didn't affect his mood. 

“Soldiers!” called a harsh voice accompanied with quickly approaching steps. “Are you neglecting your duties?!”

It was Ultra Magnus who probably had nothing better to do than to supervise them, and Wheeljack didn't even bother to pull himself upright in order to put up a front for their superior officer. 

“No, sir, we are not,” Bulkhead dutifully answered, saluting the officer when he stopped before them. Ultra Magnus bought Bulkhead's display and approved it with a nod, then turned his serious gaze to Wheeljack, who looked back with an attitude that had “passive aggressive” written all over it. 

“And how about you?” Ultra Magnus coldly asked.

“I'm keeping on eye out for seekers. A party left some time ago but hasn't returned yet,” Wheeljack explained, kept a long pause and then finished: “Sir.”

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics down at him but didn't grace the performance with a comment. Bulkhead gave the smallest trace of a helmshake to Wheeljack, who simply raised on optic ridge back. 

“Very well. Carry on the good work, Bulkhead,” Ultra Magnus said, purposefully addressing only Bulkhead, and walked away with his servos clasped together behind his back. 

Wheeljack followed him with his gaze until he was certain he couldn't hear them anymore.

“Pfft. What a glitch.”

“Jackie!”

 

It wouldn't have been completely wrong to say that the city of Iacon was in good shape – at least when compared to the state the rest of the cities of Cybertron. Some formerly great metropolises were now mere memories, and one could walk in places were their streets once were and not know there was a ghost of a city around them.

But Iacon still stood, even if broken and bent. Absolutely every single one frame of glass had been shattered, buildings had been stripped of their walls and left barren with their inner structures bared to the elements. Everything was covered in rust and bent out of shape, and even buildings made of stone had felt the violent touch of bombs and several air raids, walls full of holes and explosion burns.

But there were still streets, there were still basements, tunnels and even one or two bridges. Through their internal communication link Starscream ordered his party to land, and they made a perfectly orderly landing on one of the six-lane streets that ran through the ruins. 

“Search the area,” he commanded and the group scattered around even though no one really knew or cared what they were looking for. 

“Stay away from unstable buildings,” the Air Commander yelled after the eradicons, and all of them waved a servo back at him signaling they had heard. All the buildings that were about to spontaneously crumble probably had done so already but one could never be too careful. It would have been pointless to have somebody die in a collapsing building during a ceasefire of all things, and absolutely no one needed that in their life right now. 

Starscream walked across the mid-lane of the road, kicking small rocks as he went and looked around. Prompted by the familiar environment his processor retrieved a rarely used memory file about the many battles of Iacon and carefully browsed through them. He had flown many missions during the siege with the finest and most trusted seekers he had known during those days, none of whom functioned anymore. 

_“I still function.”_

Megatron's voice was permanently etched into his memory files, Starscream knew this. The cruel, triumphant declaration made him shudder and he swiped the file aside as firmly as his processor was able to. Megatron, the Lord and Master of all Decepticons, the Terror of Kaon, a beast crawled from the murder pits was still functioning, and so many bots better than him did not. Even now it didn't bother him in moral sense. He hadn't ever really cared for ethics or rules, but preferred to take his own side and navigate the environment like the ever changing skies and weather, riding thermals whenever he could. 

No, the insult of Megatron's survival was a deep and sore personal one. Starscream could make a long list of bots he would have wanted to share this moment with, all of them one with the Allspark now, and the surge of loneliness prompted by the thought made him angry. He was angry at the cruel fate, bitter and frustrated that Megatron still didn't respect him, and devastatingly sad that he was here in Iacon, alone and with nobody to talk to. 

He looked up at the buildings and didn't recognize any of them. He had no idea where they had landed exactly, what part of Iacon this was – had been – or had he flown here before. He knew for a fact that he hadn't walked here until this day so the view from the street wasn't helpful. 

In an attempt to bring back memories he retrieved a file of a particular flight mission above Iacon. It was one of the more low-key ones he had taken with just his closest elite, and maybe he was punishing himself for something, maybe for his own stupidity, but he also recalled the freshest files of Skywarp and Thundercracker. Both of them were saluting him before they took off together, Skywarp unprofessionally grinning, Thundercracker more serious but still smiling as well, toned down and reassuring. 

Suddenly Starscream felt heavy and exhausted, like all his hydraulics had malfunctioned at the same time. He stopped walking and instead turned a full circle on his pedes, taking in the once mighty city, the capital of their planet, now barren and useless. Not even during the eons of war had Starscream learned to recognize the feeling of helplessness and thus didn't know what made him tremble now before the ruins of their home. 

He shook his helm to yank himself out of the pit of thoughts, took a few running steps, leaped and transformed, leaving the feeling on the ground. He flew in a low, slowly widening spiral over Iacon, mapping the remains and keeping tabs on standing buildings and open streets. He didn't know if the data would be useful now, later or ever but collecting it following the very basics of air scouting protocols gave him something to do, successfully distracting him from any painful memories. 

Even the smiles and grins of Skywarp and Thundercracker sunk back in the depth of his processor, dragging down the file that was hazy from emotional turmoil and partially corrupted. It was of jets caught in anti-aircraft fire, then taking a nosedive to the ground below, disappearing into the thick smoke. The wrenching pain in Starscream's spark of a conjunx bond breaking apart had come before the visual of his burning trine mates. 

Cycles went past, and later when Starscream couldn't justify any more time away from the base he gathered the search party and lead them back to the Decepticon camp. Everyone else went back to their own business, but the Commander had to report to Megatron who in turn against all odds was very interest in the collected data. 

“And exactly how much open roads there are in Iacon?” Megatron queried. 

Starscream blinked up at him, confused by the question. “My Lord, Iacon has a vast road network for ground-based traffic, it is designed for grounders first and foremost, not to mention the capital of - “

“I know what kind of a city Iacon was!” Megatron interrupted harshly. “I didn't ask a history lesson, Starscream. May I remind you that your most recent betrayal is still affecting my opinion of you and if you think you can start insulting my intellect you're gravely mistaken.”

“That was not my intention at all, my Lord, I swear!” Starscream hurried to assure him, bowing deep and sheltering his frame with his wings.

Megatron enjoyed the display of humility and panic for a few kliks before clarifying: “I want to know how much of that network has survived. How possible is it to move about the city by pede and on wheels?”

Starscream slowly straightened his back again while keeping an optic on Megatron's body language for ques to stay down. He spotted none, deemed the situation stable and started to go over the data he had collected. 

“Yes, my Lord. Both ways are quite possible. There is rubble and wreckage about, but the buildings seem stable enough and even driving is possible on most of the remaining roads,” he explained, quite content with himself for searching such a large area and mapping it too. 

Megatron looked thoughtful, a devious smile creeping upon his features. “Gather up the officers, Starscream,” Megatron ordered, “I have a plan. Be ready by night fall!”


	3. The streets of Iacon

Another day of the ceasefire dawned just as peaceful as the previous ones, but already before the mid-day Ultra Magnus had grown suspicious. He was keeping watch with Arcee from the early hours of twilight to the noon, but the previously fairly active line of Decepticons' side was now quiet. 

“I don't like this,” Ultra Magnus commented mid-shift. “There hasn't been a single guard in sight all morning.”

Arcee was equally suspicious, peering through a small hole in a wall she was covering behind. “I agree, sir. Every single day before the guard post was there, now it's gone. The Cons have either retreated back or they're up to something.”

“You are correct, soldier, except for the little detail that whatever the case, they are definitely up to something. They wouldn't move just for comfort, it has to have something to do with gaining advantage over us.”

Arcee nodded, mind already drafting plans how to somehow get a sneak peek at the Decepticon camp and whatever they were doing there. She had been feeling down ever since they had returned their human companions to their own planet and she had exchanged hasty good-byes with Jack, and a distracting mission would be very welcome.

Human lives were so fleeting. They had been apart just a little over a month and already Arcee felt he must have changed so much without her there to see it. 

From that point of view it was a good thing that things were developing and they couldn't just sit around on their afts any longer, she needed to focus on something instead of her own worries. She'd take time to do that once the war was over.

“Come, we must take this matter to the Prime,” Ultra Magnus decided, rose up and started to return to their camp, and Arcee rushed to follow him. 

 

Optimus grew grim as Arcee and Ultra Magnus told him about their observations and guesses. All the others gathered around them, and no one looked particularly happy to hear that there had been a change for the unknown.

Bumblebee and Smokescreen looked at each other on the exact same klik, both recognizing their playful little trips were about to become a thing of the past once again. Ratchet looked as grim as Optimus but the look was not alien on him so the effect was smaller, and Bulkhead was just purely worried and throwing glances at Wheeljack, who in turn couldn't care less. 

“When was the last time someone had a visual of any Decepticon soldier?” Optimus asked them after Ultra Magnus had concluded his report.

“That would have been last night,” Wheeljack said. It had been his shift then and despite the lack of interest he had sat awake through the whole night. “Seeker parties, like on every single day before.”

“How many?” Ultra Magnus asked immediately, turning so he was face to face with Wheeljack.

“I'd say possibly five groups during the night.”

“Possibly? You have neglected your watch duties,” Ultra Magnus scolded, optics narrowing.

Wheeljack rolled his own at him and ex-vented deeply. “I wouldn't say that. Look, their flyers are restless, they fly a lot, every day. Back and forth all the time, that damn Scream right in the front every time. Who cares? Let them play! It's not like they have bombed us or anything,” he explained with his helm tilted and servos resting on his pelvic plates. 

Ultra Magnus's expression didn't change in any way but his voice was cold as ice when he spoke: “And it didn't at any point occur to you those might not be simple pastime flights but scouting missions? Can you even begin to comprehend how much valuable intelligence one can gather from air? Intelligence that we have neither a possibility to match nor any idea what the enemy is using it for.”

Wheeljack pulled himself up to his full height and opened his mouth like he was about to ignore Bulkhead's calming servo on his shoulder and let their superior officer hear exactly what he was thinking, when Ratchet intervened with a firm clang of his servos.

“Hold it now, both of you!” he barked and stepped between them, “now is not the time to bicker over little details! We have a situation here, and it won't be solved like this!” He glared at both of them, one at a time and his signature frown in place. That might have not exactly resolved the situation but it sure calmed it down enough, and he turned to the Prime.  
“Optimus, what do you think about this?”

All optics turned to their leader. 

If Optimus felt disappointed at this unfortunate turn in their ceasefire he didn't show any signs of it. “It doesn't matter now who should have done and what,” he began, voice steady and serious. “The fact remains that either the Decepticons have retreated further back and out of sight or they have mobilized and moved to an unknown location. We have two things to do: First, we must find out which one it is by getting a visual of their presumed positions, and second react accordingly.”

“We do not have flyers, sir. Scouting will be a difficult and risky task,” Ultra Magnus said immediately. 

“We have managed until now,” Optimus assured him. “We must operate with what we have.”

“I: Scout. My job,” bleeped Bumblebee despite Smokescreen's pleading servo around his. Bumblebee didn't think twice about volunteering and set his playful youthfulness aside the moment he was needed, but Arcee stepped forward as well.  
“We all appreciate your scouting abilities, Bumblebee. But you're still a fairly big bot and the plaza doesn't have much hiding places. And we do have somebody who's built more lightly than you,” she said and gestured meaningfully to herself. 

“Arcee is correct. Her small and nimble altform is the best one for this mission. Your enthusiasm is much appreciated as always, Bumblebee,” Optimus said and offered a smile to the young scout and his visibly relieved friend. “Now we need a precise plan of action. We also can't risk advancing to the open ground during the light, so we have time until nightfall. Let's get to work.”

It was decided then, and the team fell back to their military routine. Optimus watched them, expressionless but with a sadness growing inside of him when he saw how easily everyone returned to the old routine. Everyone had been restless and on edge during the ceasefire but now that they had a mission to execute and possible battles ahead they paradoxically relaxed like a too wound up string released. Routines were familiar and safe even if this one was slowly killing them. Optimus felt a stab of despair before the situation he didn't seem to be able to change, let himself feel the pain for a moment before pushing it aside so he could contribute to the mission plan.

The Autobots kept watch through the whole day in case they saw something that would make the risky scouting mission unnecessary, but the positions across the Omega Plaza stayed desolate all day until the night fell. 

When the darkness finally fell, Bumblebee, Optimus and Wheeljack accompanied Arcee to the very edge of their positions where an old bridge had been bombarded into rubble and collapsed, now giving them a sheltered place to set the base of their operation. There was nothing after it but a smooth plateau between them and the enemy line, and Arcee would have to make her way unnoticed across it. She was already in her alt form and keeping her engine's revs low, the noise down and her lights dark making herself nearly invisible and ready to begin.

Optimus stayed behind, acting as extra firepower in case Arcee needed to make a hasty retreat, and Wheeljack and Bumblebee escorted Arcee as close to the open field as they dared. They remained in their botforms and crawled on either side of Arcee, dwarfing the motorcycle between them, effectively sheltering her.

“Careful. Not too close,” Bumblebee anxiously advised her through comm link.

“Don't worry about me, Bee. I know how to be careful,” Arcee gently reassured him and smoothly rolled as close to the edge of the wall of junk as she could without being visible from the other side. 

“Make as wide a circle as you can, better a too wide than too tight,” Wheeljack spoke barely louder than a whisper. “Take a look and get back just as calmly as you advanced. If you're fired at, don't stop to return it but come back as fast as you can, we'll meet you halfway and cover you.”

“Roger that,” Arcee said and with a gentle rev of her engine drove out to the open and the darkness swallowed her. Bumblebee and Wheeljack stayed and waited.

The wait wasn't as long as it felt, but it ground in their systems like sand in machinery. No sound was heard from the darkness after Arcee's engine couldn't be heard anymore, and there wasn't lights of any kind visible either. The silence also meant the absence of screeching wheels and cannon fire and thus was a good thing, but after half a cycle it started to press their audio receptors like solid matter and tested their patience. 

One and a half cycle of nerve-wrenching waiting later a light lit up in the dark, startling all three of the bots waiting for their scout's return, Wheeljack and Bumblebee on their position and Optimus further back. They all had their blasters armed and ready before the sense caught up with instinct: The light was a single headlight, round and white and illuminated the blue plating around it. 

The light approached fast and soon the night air was filled with the careless roar of a light engine and wheels on hard ground, and just before Arcee reached their positions she leaped up, transformed and ran the last few steps to them. 

“The Cons are all gone! There's no signs of a base of any kind left!” 

The report called for another meeting – and immediately. It wasn't actually an inconvenience since not a single one of them had recharged with three of their comrades on a mission, but now they were all even more on edge than they would have been with higher energy levels. The mood was tense and the conversation was all in heated whispers with a trace of paranoia in the air since not knowing where the Decepticons were could have as well meant they were now everywhere. 

“Where they could have gone to!?” Smokescreen wondered in disbelief, fidgeting on his pedes.

“Never mind that, we need to get on the move as well! They know where we are but we don't know where they are, and I don't like this situation at all,” Wheeljack grunted with his arms crossed, and Arcee kept nodding firmly as he spoke. 

“And what do you suggest? That we go and run around in the dark?” Ratchet demanded from him with a hint of sarcasm. “We're targets now but if we leave now we'd just be slowly stumbling targets. I don't see how that would be an advancement!”

“But where have they gone to? The Cons are not exactly a small group,” Bulkhead pondered, scratching his helm.

“You all need to calm down!” Optimus declared and the chatter quieted down almost at that precise klik. “Arguing is not going to help anyone,” he continued with a calmer voice. “Let's stick to the logical steps. We have taken the first one and now know that Megatron has put his troops on the move. Now we must react to that. So, what shall we do?”

“We can't stay here, so we move too,” Arcee answered matter-of-factly, others nodding. She appeared cool and collected since she had had the opportunity to let out some steam on the mission, and she fought to preserve that coolness for the sake of everyone else.

“Where do you suspect they have gone, sir?” Ultra Magnus asked the obvious question and all optics focused to Optimus. 

“Where they could have and to a place that is of a tactical importance,” Optimus replied. “After all, simply wandering around the barren wasteland wouldn't be sensible, and there aren't many cities standing anymore. It is fair to presume Megatron has lead the Decepticons to Iacon.”

Thoughtful silence fell among them again. Now that it had been said, it was obvious. Bumblebee and Smokescreen's gazes had snapped to each other and they were staring. 

“Do either of you have something to say?” Optimus queried them.

All gazes turned to the two youngest ones now, and they sheepishly looked back to Optimus.

“Well... Yeah, kinda sorta, I guess?” Smokescreen hesitated, but then Bumblebee gave him an encouraging nudge. “Uh, we have scouted the suburbs of Iacon lately, sir! The city has plenty of hiding places such as basement levels and subway tunnels and stations, probably resources too, and the roads are in fairly good condition.”

Optimus hummed thoughtfully and nodded at the young bots.

“The enemy's seekers must know this as well. They have clearly gathered the same intelligence as our scouts,” Ultra Magnus said, tone serious and neutral but his optics on Wheeljack who stared challengingly back at him. 

“That is a fair assumption,” Optimus agreed.

“So what then? We drive to Iacon as well?” Ratchet asked, clearly unhappy about this. “Warfare in a city is ugly, Optimus. I haven't forgotten it, and I don't believe for a klik anyone else has either!”

“We can't stay here either! Each day we sit here is the day Scream and the posse can circle back here and sow some missiles,” Bulkhead argued back, on the verge of pacing and grounding his fist against his palm.

Optimus raised a calming servo and the stressed chattering quieted down again. His position as the leader prevented him from expressing his feelings of anxiety and disappointment on the inevitable failure of the ceasefire, but he hadn't had the luxury of selfish expression in eons, so filing those emotions away and locking them up came automatically to him. 

“Autobots, we have no choice. We must abandon our camp and be on the move again, and we must do it quickly. I doubt Starscream and his seekers will try to fly a night mission, but when the dawn comes we will be exposed and vulnerable again. So pack up the little you have and prepare to mobilize in fifteen klikcycles.”

His decision was final and accepted immediately, and without a single word everyone burst to motion and started to scrabble up every little thing they might have had with them and would possibly need in the future. Bumblebee and Smokescreen didn't have anything on them so Ratchet claimed them as his assistants and together they gathered up his medical equipment. 

No one said a word as they packed their few belongings and stuffed their sub-spaces with fuel rations before reporting back to Optimus, who carried nothing but the Star Saber. 

By the time everyone was ready, Optimus had already come up with a plan for their advancement: “We will roll out and assume a line formation with as large spaces between us as we can manage without losing visual of each other. All lights will be kept strictly offline, even the brake lights might give away our position. The way to Iacon isn't very long, but most of it is open ground we must cross and arrive to the city before the first light, and we will adapt our speed to that: We'll drive slowly and minimize the noise we make, but fast enough that we'll reach our destination in time. I will lead the way, Arcee behind me, then Bumblebee, Smokescreen, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Bulkhead and last Ultra Magnus. Any questions or opinions?”

None came, though a few glances were thrown around at bots who'd drive ahead or behind them. The plan was settled and everyone transformed in to their vehicle mode, some of the dented plating screeching and grinding together as they rearranged. Optimus took point and they drove out of their camp in a loose formation that started to resemble a line little by little.

When they reached the vast open space of the Sea of Rust they took their positions and tuned their engines as low as possible. The weather was in their favor, and thick clouds covered most of the stars and sheltered them in natural darkness. Optimus blinked his break lights as a signal and they began the dreaded trip of the night. 

 

Megatron was clearly punishing Starscream for his latest stunt, Knockout was certain of this. What other reason he could have had to justify kicking the Air Commander awake from deep recharge before the day break and tossing him off the building? 

Decepticons had made their new base in a building that had once reached the skies but had lost roughly three quarters of its levels in bombings. However the rest of it, all twenty floors, still stood strong and stable thanks to the strong foundations. Six highest levels had only their metal skeleton and the outlines of the floors left, but downwards from there the building was whole. Insides were empty of supplies, furniture and everything that would have given hints of the previous use of the building, but the ramps and staircases were fine and the elevators were intact, though without power those were useless. 

Even the internal walls were mostly standing, even if not everywhere. On level fifteen there was a large open space that was actually a hallway and several large rooms fused together with their walls ripped down and the outer wall blown into nothing, and it was there where Megatron found his Second-in-Command and some of his troops, napping away even though that was against what he had ordered last night. 

And that was why he grabbed Starscream's ankle, dragged him across the floor and tossed him out of the hole in the wall and yelled after him: “Scout, you incompetent winged traitor!”

Knockout was recharging on the other side of the room and stirred at Starscream's angry protests as did the eradicons who scrambled to their pedes, watching warily the scene unfold before them. From outside the igniting of a jet engine was heard and soon the Commander soared up again, shooting up to the sky and away on the mission he had almost slept through.

Knockout walked across the room but kept a respectful distance between himself and Megatron as he spoke: “Good morning, my liege. If I may ask, what's with the harsh treatment of our Air Commander?”

Megatron glanced at him over his shoulder. “I am not responsible to you, doctor. What's your interest in the matter?”

“Of course not, my liege!” Knockout hurriedly assured him, already scolding himself for speaking to Megatron who clearly wasn't in a good mood. “It was my understanding he has been punished enough. I don't have my lab so fixing anyone right now would be very difficult.”

“I was not aware that Starscream's well-being is of such a great concern to you,” Megatron scoffed with a hint of mockery. “Don't think I'm a fool, Knockout. I won't damage my only officer in field with flight no matter how much said officer would deserve it. I need information and a flying scout is the best provider, and it's solely Starscream's own fault he decided to take a nap instead of attending to his duties.”

“Ah, yes, naturally, my liege,” Knockout agreed. “At least Starscream returned to us, unlike that traitorous deserter, Dreadwing!”

“Your display of loyalty and duty are exemplary, doctor,” Megatron said with a sarcastic edge, communicating how he didn't believe for a klik that Knockout cared who served with honor and who rebelled. This didn't go past Knockout, who suppressed a nervous chuckle and bowed instead. 

“I am a Decepticon to the end, my liege,” he simply said.

“See it through, then. I've heard that from mouths of better bots before, and been gravely disappointed,” Megatron huffed and turned to walk away.

Knockout let himself relax again and cycled air through his vents fast, trying to calm his anxious frame.  
One of the eradicons woken up by Starscream's graceless take off walked up to him. Knockout recognized the mech by his dents and scratches, his designation being Collision. 

“What do you think, doctor?” Collision asked. “Is Lord Megatron going to hunt Dreadwing down?”

Knockout shrugged, not really caring one way or another. “We shall see, one can never truly guess what Lord Megatron will do next. But I doubt it, at least for now as we have more important things to attend to. That might change dramatically if Dreadwing comes and tries to cross Megatron, but until then I think our Lord and Master is perfectly happy to let him go and rust where ever he pleases.”

Collision barked a rough laugh, the voice bearing an undertone of static due to a minor yet crucial little bump in the voice box.

“Yeah, I'll agree with you on this one, doctor,” he sniggered. “What was Commander Dreadwing's problem, anyway? The twins were always so loyal, all the way from the beginning.”

Knockout gave the vehicon a surprised look. “How long have you been with the Decepticons?” he asked.

Collision straightened up, suddenly radiating pride. “From the beginning of the revolution. I used to work in the mineral mine in Badlands, the very first mine Lord Megatron liberated. I've been a Decepticon ever since.”

Knockout turned his whole frame towards him, his curiosity more than a little bit peaked now. “That's very interesting,” he said and meant it. “But you haven't really done anything but mining ever since you joined, have you?”

It was Collision's turn to shrug. “Well, that's what I'm good at. I was created to do that. Now I'm just doing it for someone and something I appreciate.”

“Well, fancy that.”

“Indeed. But you didn't tell me what it was that made Commander Dreadwing desert us,” Collision returned to the earlier subject. “Is it classified or something like that? Because if I am over-stepping some boundaries, I don't mean to.”

“Oh no, it's fine,” Knockout assured him. He wasn't really sure if it was fine but he didn't find it in himself to care. After all the situation of the whole war had radically changed during the past almost two moon cycles and continued to do so in a quick pace. Since the Omega Lock had been activated the natural cycle of Cybertron had been kick-started as well. That meant the natural dissolving of living metals and the birth of new matter and even if it didn't rebuild the entire planet again it would certainly help them later. 

“Well? What was it?” Collision pressed on, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Knockout gave a sly smile. “Let's just say it was a family matter. He had something to say about the Decepticon way of treating those.”

“Oh,” Collision said. He sounded slightly disappointed by the vague answer but didn't try to pressure Knockout into telling him more. 

“I sure hope he won't come back and pick up a fight. It would be such a bother considering how well things are going now,” he said after a small pause.

Knockout raised his optic ridges and flashed the vehicon a warning look. “Don't start complaining now. Megatron might be preoccupied at the moment but he is famously good at multitasking, and as we just witnessed he threw his first lieutenant out of a hole in a wall for being lazy. Imagine what he'd do to rebels.”

“I know, I know,” Collision sighed. “But I'd bet my spark on that even Commander Soundwave would rather clear out some roads and fix a building or two than knock helms with some Autobots.”

Knockout couldn't force himself to argue about that but didn't agree aloud either. He decided the conversation was over now, herded Collision to wake the rest of the troops and get fueled up for the day since they would most likely get orders as soon as Starscream would return with whatever information he had been sent off to get. 

Collision did as he was ordered to and started to go around the floor, using his pede to nudge awake anybody who was still recharging despite the day's work ahead. Mostly he got back some halfhearted grunts and mumbling as the vehicon in question hoisted themselves up from the floor, but one or two tried to swat him away and steal yet another five klikcycles of power down time, but even they got to their pedes and made an effort to make themselves decent after a couple more kicks to the side.

They had simple patrol duties ahead of them today. The aerials had provided them with a map of the area around them but their point of view let much to be desired for grounders, who were now making their own additions to the map such as unstable roads, collapsing danger areas and possible places of ambush that could be spotted only from the ground. The task was fairly easy but laborious since Iacon was a big city. The maps alone were of a much larger area than they would be able to travel through in one shift, and it was merely a fraction of the whole city. 

Their base camp was in a former business district, as someone had been able to point out. Not that there was anything left to indicate that unless you had the time to analyze the floor plans and the knowledge to draw conclusion of that since there was absolutely nothing left of the famous billboards, neon signs and advertisements to tell about the once flourishing center of economy. Everything of value had been either transported elsewhere or seized in raids, and all that was left was the same junk that littered every other place as well.

Collision and the others divided into teams of four and planned shifts for the day while checking and maintaining their weaponry, taking turns oiling the seams of their companions and testing transformation. They were nearly finished and ready for action when a tell-tale noise of a jet engine thundered closer indicating Commander Starscream's return. The Commander was most likely landing straight above the main room, so Collision, his team and others made their way there. 

They entered the room and found Shockwave, who had reported back to duty just yesterday and surprised everyone by being alive, and Soundwave working on a makeshift main frame of a computer, and Lord Megatron listening to Starscream's report. 

“The Autobots have abandoned their previous positions just as you predicted, Master,” Starscream said.

Megatron ignored the subtle compliment and asked: “And their assumed position now?”

“Several wheel traces lead towards Iacon, Lord Megatron. The Autobots have taken the bait.”

“Excellent,” Megatron chuckled and turned to face the eight vehicons ready to serve, and they all bowed their helms in respect and fear.

“You have the maps, you know your tasks. Now go and serve the Decepticon cause,” Megatron ordered, dismissing them with a large gesture with his servo. 

The vehicons saluted and without a word made their way back to the smaller room they had came through and to the driving ramp there, leaving the four officers to whatever they were up to today. The ramp lead the teams to a level underground before they could take a route to the surface again. They hadn't had much time to scout Iacon yet but what they had seen indicated a considerable preservation of underground infrastructure. There were a couple of wider sinkholes across the city when a tall building collapsing had made the sub-surface levels collapse as well, but where there was a whole road and a standing ruin a mostly alright basement level was also to be found. 

The vehicons took a formation of two side by side and two pairs in line as they drove up to the surface. They came out onto a bumpy but manageable road, and the teams parted ways taking the opposite routes.

Collision's team-mates were just acquaintances to him but they were united by their shared purpose: They were all originally miners. The three others went by names Barbreaker, Chromehook and Swift, and Collision had a faint recollection of Swift working near his work station eons ago in the mine in Badlands, but they had never before served in the same unit. 

“I never visited Iacon,” Chromehook messaged through their internal comm link. 

“None of us did. It was a place for better bots than us. Like they would have tolerated rust like us here,” Barbreaker huffed back. 

“I know, I know, “Chromehook sighed, “but I would really have liked to see it. I only ever saw the lights in the night sky once when we were delivering cargo here.”

“Well you saw the sky! Some of us never had the chance for even that!” Swift scoffed. He had spent all of his existence in the mines, deep underneath the surface digging up rock and loading wagons, even recharging in the tunnels there. 

“That wasn't my point,” Chromehook muttered back and dropped the subject. 

Collision preferred to just listen to the chatter of others while he kept a watchful optic on their environment in case of enemy contact. Right now they drove on a wide road that was one of the main ones that went through the entire city, and there were very little of possible hiding places around, so a Decepticon who cared about his own hide couldn't be too careful. 

“Who got to walk in Iacon and who didn't is irrelevant now,” he said through the comm line. “It's all rubble now. No one walks here.”

“Such a bother, really. There's so much metals and rocks and junk around, cast away carelessly and in the _fragging way_ ,” Barbreaker said, irritation clear in his voice and the way his wheels screeched. 

Chromehook took up the opportunity to make up for the disagreement a moment ago and quickly agreed: “Yes, you're absolutely right! This place ought to be cleared out a bit. You know, stone rubble in one pile, metals in another and then, if we had the time, we could go through the metal pile for useful scrap...”

His tone was cheerful, not in a way a bored someone craved for something to do but like someone who dreamed of a purpose. Whatever was exactly going through his processor didn't interest Collision as much as the itching feeling inside himself to do something about the chaos around them as well. 

“Well... One way to look at this is that the city will be easier to rebuild with fewer buildings left. None of these can be rebuilt, they must be taken down properly and then new buildings can be made,” Chromehook pondered aloud. They had all slowed down considerably so they could take a better look around, and Chromehook especially made almost complete stops and had to speed up from time to time to keep up with the rest of the team. 

“And how do you know that, exactly? Are you a Constructicon?” Barbreaker asked.

“Well... No...” Chromehook admitted, “but none of the buildings here are stable! Just look how rusty they are! It's just common sense.”

“Well you're right about that,” Swift agreed, if reluctantly. “As miners we know how dangerous unstable structures are.”

They all agreed on that one with a collective hum over the line. They knew the dangers of careless planning and the force a few dozen tons of rock collapses down with. But even with the grim memories and the eerily barren ruins around them the day was bright, the shadows of the two moons visible in the sky and despite its foreignness there was an unmistakable feeling of home around them and the mood was almost cheerful. After stellar cycles of dirt roads and organic surroundings and even longer of cramped spaceship corridors the taste of Cybertronian air and sunshine alone made them relax and soothed their stress. 

Collision came to a halt. They had arrived in an area less affected by bombs and there were suddenly several ideal places where to set up an ambush. High buildings were made of metal rather than stone, and even though their top floors had been destroyed and laid on the streets in shreds, several lower floors were intact with walls providing cover even though the windows were broken. 

Driving there would be difficult too considering the scrap metal and a collapsed maglev train tracks on the street. 

On his signal the team assumed their botforms, walked into the sheltering shadow of the stubborn former skyscraper on the left side of the road and continued on pede. 

Chromehook kicked around a piece of rusty metal that had likely been a part of some sort of a pipe in its past life.

“How wasn't this place marked as a dead-end in the map?” Swift wondered out loud, the unvoiced blame laid on the seekers. 

“I don't know. I suppose it looked passable from above,” Barbreaker answered, exventing harshly.

They gazed around and kicked at bits of scrap metal. There was a lot of concrete rubble but considerably more trash metal than in most parts they had come across.

“Do you think that... We should maybe... clean this mess up a bit?” Chromehook suggested almost shyly and in a whisper like they were just about to disobey a direct order from Megatron himself.

The others didn't share his anxiety about it. They looked at each other, a dormant excitement shimmering across their link, and then they nodded in unison. 

They were all built like miners, bots for a function that was both rough and heavy but requiring of a certain kind of tactical perception as well so getting down to business of this kind was natural to them. They started by hoisting up and dragging aside the largest parts such as entire pieces of wall and twisted train tracks, then moved onto the lighter things. They worked from middle to the sides, focusing on the heavier piles with more parts first and then picking up the minor ones. This way they saw the results quicker and made the road functional the fastest. 

“Hey, Cons! Don't shoot!” yelled a voice from the end of the street in the way the vehicons had been slowly moving toward. They all jumped and took cover quickly, focusing their optics and weapons on the two Autobots waving at them. One of them a big green one, the other one white, blue and black.

“It looks like you could use some help!” the green one shouted.

The vehicons exchanged brief look amongst themselves, then their comm link buzzed as they began a heated assessment of the situation.

_“What?”_

_“He wants to help!”_

_“As if! It's an Autobot!”_

_“Oh, come one. They would have opened fire already if they wanted that.”_

_“That's true...”_

_“You don't know that!”_

_“It's called logic. Try it some time.”_

_“I don't trust them!”_

_“But we'd be ready much faster with some help, wouldn't we?”_

Their comm link rang hot as they messaged back and forth, Chromehook ever trusting and Barbreaker suspicious, but eventually they agreed, lowered their weapons and cautiously stood up from behind their cover.

The two Autobots walked toward them with their servos still held clearly visible, both attempting to look friendly. When they came closer the vehicon team noticed the smaller bot was clearly younger than the big green one and a bit skittish, but it was the heavy green one that spoke.

“Hi ya there! Uh... My name is Bulkhead, and this is Smokescreen. We don't want to fight, but... umm...”

“We thought we could lend you two helping pairs of servos,” the younger bot finished for him. 

“And why's that?” Barbreaker demanded.

Both Autobots just shrugged. 

“Well it's no big deal,” Bulkhead said, a bit awkward but smiling. “And... No offense but you're quite small, and I'm a professional.”

The answer was sufficient, and in a strange kind of unison they began to clear the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear reader! Thank you for reading, I hope you leave kudos if you liked this and perhaps share some of your thoughts in the comments!
> 
> Yep, Dreadwing lives. I like him a lot and the plot needs him, sue me.  
> Poor Starscream. One of his titles should be Megatron's stress ball or something.


	4. Bots and Cons

It was a strike of good fortune that it was Smokescreen and Bulkhead searching the streets and thus them who ran into the vehicons. They were a bit of an odd pair; whereas Smokescreen was his usual overly enthusiastic self with good intentions, Bulkhead found himself pushed into the role of a teacher more than he felt qualified for. 

But they worked well together, especially since Smokescreen had had the sharpest edge of his newcomer's excitement dulled and had become more receptive, plus he was a genuinely good kid and Bulkhead couldn't say he particularly minded being a mentor to him. Smokescreen's pure spark and positive attitude made him all the more likable, and even though Bulkhead would never admit it it was a welcome counterbalance to Wheeljack's pessimism.

It wasn't like Bulkhead didn't understand why Wheeljack felt the way he did, after all they had known each other for the most part of their existence, but for the first time in a very long time Bulkhead felt out of touch with him. It was a strange feeling, like they had lost some sort of a personal connection he had come to take for granted, and only noticed how big a part the connection had had in their lives now that it was severed. Bulkhead wanted to look forward and tried with all his spark to share Optimus' faith in lasting peace. Any ceasefire between Autobots and Decepticons hadn't lasted this long in the entire history of their civil war, so to Bulkhead the chances seemed pretty high, but he could understand why Wheeljack, the realistic person that he was, didn't share the high hopes. 

The problem was that Bulkhead didn't understand Wheeljack's feelings at all. He knew where the attitude was coming from, but what his friend was feeling exactly, he could only keep guessing at. Usually he was always in tune with his friends and their emotions like he had a receptor specially designed for that, and receiving only white noise felt alien to him.

So Smokescreen's high spirits and frank manners made him feel better, sue him. And the kid looked up to Optimus so much that he hadn't even questioned the ceasefire or its inevitable success, as Bulkhead came to know as they walked on the vacant streets.

“Wouldn't it be great if we could build something here? You know, design something of our own? I always liked drawing things, but I haven't really had a chance to do that since I enlisted. I was in stasis for so long it actually feels like it's only been like maybe a couple of decades since I last drew something, although the time is actually longer. Funny, isn't it?”

The kid really was a real chatter box, Bulkhead thought. It reminded him of Bumblebee and what the scout had been like a long time ago. It should have probably been painful thinking about it but actually it was quite endearing, in its own way. The two youngest of the team were so much alike in so many ways it was hard to remember how little time they had actually known each other.

“After my creation I was brought to and programmed in Iacon. Never really liked it that much but hey, it was okay! There are some buildings I won't miss, but damn how come most dull and ugly ones still stand? I saw an old bank building many blocks to the East still standing, an ugly old thing, of course it still stands, and it's my old academy that is dust now! Hey, you were a Constructicon! Did you build anything in Iacon?”

Bulkhead had been blissfully listening to the chatter but now shook himself from his thoughts to answer the question. He chuckled and shook his helm. “You've got a high opinion of me, kid! Nah, I never built in a fancy place like the Capital. I built mostly factories and industrial halls, some working caste concrete apartment buildings too.” He paused and expected Smokescreen to take the conversation and run with again, but the kid had had some patience put in him and actually listened. Bulkhead felt a rush of pride on his behalf and continued: “Not that there would be anything left of the stuff I built with my colleagues. It's a bit of shame, really. In one of those apartment buildings I cast really nice balconies.”

“I would have liked to see those,” Smokescreen said. “But imagine, maybe you get to rebuild Iacon. All the great cities of future Cybertron will have your work in them!”

“Wow wow, don't get ahead of things, kid,” Bulkhead calmed him. “We're not quite there yet.”

“Oh, but we could soon be!” Smokescreen said, wistful and optics gazing to the horizon. “If they won't shoot and we won't shoot, we just might get to fix things instead of breaking them.”

Well look at that. The kid was fed up with the fighting already. Bulkhead chuckled to himself. Poor kid had jumped in to the deep end so eagerly and floated for while, but started to scramble back to dry land at the exact moment he realized his pedes didn't reach the bottom. 

“You just keep your hopes high, kiddo. You never know what will happen,” Bulkhead said. He didn't have the spark to coldly dismiss Smokescreen's hopes even though it might have been the kinder thing to do now than later. 

They turned the corner of a block, staying near the wall and watching out for possible enemy contact. On the other hand the city was big and there were more decently preserved areas than completely destroyed ones so Cons could be located literally anywhere and in all likelihood not very close to them – the Autobots had made their base in an old underground station with multiple escape routes and a decently disclosed entry – but they hadn't survived this long by being careless. And wouldn't you know, around the corner waiting for them was a street-wide disaster likely caused by an air raid during the siege of Iacon, and four Decepticon scouts among it. 

Bulkhead stopped Smokescreen with his servo, they both froze in place and observed. One could see immediately that the Cons weren't patrolling the area or even searching it, they were clearing out the road. At first Bulkhead suspected it was simply for their own convenience as they were ground based vehicles, but if they were just tearing through the obstacle they would have cleared it up enough already. These vehicons were peeling the thickest section of the scrap pile and sorting the waste they pulled away from it and showed no sign of stopping even though there was a clearing wide enough to let all four of them through side by side.

“They are... clearing the rubble?” Smokescreen whispered behind him, optics glued to the unusual sight. 

Bulkhead glanced at the young bot and saw a hint of a smile tugging at his lipplates despite his disbelief, then his attention shifted to his arms and he faced a surprise equal to the cleaning Decepticons: Where he had expected Smokescreen's blasters to be were just his servos. Some bots really took hope straight to their spark and made it into its essence.

“What do you say, kiddo?” Bulkhead asked. “Would they need a servo?”

Smokescreen beamed. 

 

As Bulkhead, Smokescreen and the vehicons worked, Smokescreen was already making friends, even if with a slightly reserved attitude. He didn't trust the Decepticons but the feeling of mistrust was mutual and thus unimportant, and they chattered away in any case. He found a similar, naturally positive spark in Chromehook who asked at least as many questions as Smokescreen did.

What none of them knew was that they were being watched. The building that had been dissected and spilled its guts onto the street had one of its walls still reaching far further up than the rest of them. All that was left were the inner structures, bizarrely bent out of shape and partially melted as if it was made of plastic rather than solid metal, drooping limply over the next former establishment, and high up on the tip of one metal pillar balanced Starscream with a missile pointed at the young Autobot warrior. 

Starscream simply held the aim, steady and prepared to launch, but didn't. This was his chance, a moment of glory and an opportunity to firmly establish his reclaimed position among Decepticon ranks! Megatron couldn't dismiss an Autobot brought down by his second's impeccable aim and cunning!

Except he had done it before. Starscream had after all carried out his duties like he had been ordered to when Megatron had left on his private little pilgrimage just a few stellar cycles ago, no scheming or trickery involved. Afterwards Starscream had even presented a corpse of an Autobot he had deactivated himself as a welcome back gift. Had he received praise then? 

No he hadn't, and that had been up close and personal, a kill with his bare servos, the kind that gladiators valued and appreciated. Megatron had gazed upon the corpse and moved on then, why would he now take any notice of Starscream's meager accomplishment from a distance, the remaining little glory dimmed by his recent failures?

Starscream's digits trembled. He wanted to release some of the negative charge occupying his systems but a clench of his digits would launch the missile. Starscream wasn't entirely sure what Megatron was planning either. What if he wanted to be the bot to end the ceasefire? What if Starscream was now stealing a moment he wasn't aware was supposed to be reserved for Megatron?

His spark jumped in excitement. He would love to take away something that belonged to Megatron, even if it meant physical harm to himself. 

But Megatron was always claiming the bigger price. No matter what Starscream managed to get his digits on, Megatron would have a servo-ful of it in return. 

What had restored Cybertron?   
The Omega Keys, of course.   
And who had provided said devices?   
Starscream.

The glory of it rightfully belonged to him, yet Megatron had already seized it as if he alone had done all the work. No one probably even remembered Starscream's part in the resurrection of their home anymore. 

Starscream's whole arm was shaking and he had to lower it. He disengaged the missile protocols and gave a deep exvent, put his helm in his servos and offlined his optics. Out of the blue he felt heavy like a clump of cast iron and so terribly tired he thought he might initiate emergency power down and fall off the pillar he sat on. 

In the back of his processor he knew he couldn't recharge when the night came, not properly. Bizarrely he felt like he was too exhausted to recharge, like there was some strange fatal error in his system that wiped all the self-preservation coding and left him wandering before his processor would crash and never reboot again.

The worst part was that he was nearly drained enough not to care, voiceless and mindless like one of Megatron's dark energon-fueled dead minions. 

Starscream was too far away to actually pick up on what the Autobots and the vehicons were talking about, but the cheerfulness of it surely radiated to him as well. The young mouthy grounder gestured wildly like he was on a theater stage and three of the four Decepticons were almost swarming around him. He must have had something very interesting to say to make devout Decepticon soldiers to forget about hostilities and just push rubble and listen. Who knew, maybe they would start to sing working songs too. These thoughts left a bitterly ironic taste in the back of his intake. 

The large green one, Bulkhead, whom Starscream's was mostly familiar with through Breakdown and their rivalry, was of a more reserved type, but he too moved at a relaxed sluggish pace, not at all like how Starscream was used to seeing him in a battlefield.

An obvious observation, yet it still attracted his attention: It was the constant fighting Starscream was tired of, and not even flying again made it any better. He thought his moods had been down because he had been left alone staggering aimlessly around the dusty organic planet formed on Unicron's offline frame, flightless, hungry and with mud and liquids and little organic creatures grinding in his gears and joints, but he wasn't any less miserable now. He had not once during all of his existence felt heavy when in the air, but he certainly felt like it now. 

Briefly he entertained the idea of smashing himself into a wall so he would have an excuse to return early, drag himself to Knockout and persuade the medic to issue him rest. But testing Megatron's patience now would be unwise even if Knockout was on Starscream's side in this. 

He rested his helm in his servos again and kept watching the Autobots and the vehicons working together. The peaceful sight and Cybertronian wind caressing him were comforting enough for now.

 

When Smokescreen and Bulkhead brought the story of working with Decepticons back to base, they faced a mixture of careful joy, confusion and some disapproving rejection. 

“You have both showed incredible thoughtfulness and patience today,” Optimus said to them with a smile that was pure gratitude. “I am very proud of you both.”

Smokescreen couldn't do much else but to let out a nervous laugh and beam when praised by Prime, but Bulkhead lifted his servos in a down-playing gesture.

“Oh come on, Optimus, it wasn't that big of a deal,” he said and meant it. The situation had come naturally and hadn't required any high pondering beforehand. “They were probably just as fed up with Megatron's orders as we are with him as a whole,” he jokingly added, a bit awkward.

Optimus' smile didn't fade in the slightest but grew that much warmer. “I understand that one day of simply clearing out a road might not feel like a grand occasion, but I assure you, the times are still uncertain and no amount of peaceful intent show or kindness expressed is idle.”

“And what if some of those Cons have killed our comrades?” came a bitter voice from further back and Bulkhead felt his spark sink. 

“Oh come on, Jackie,” he said in an attempt to keep the mood up. “Those were just vehicons! You can barely tell those guys apart, and I'm sure we've scrapped more of them than they of us.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Wheeljack admitted but didn't look or sound any less sour about it. 

Ratchet let out a angry puff of air and turned to scold him. “Would you tone your attitude down for a moment? I don't know how you Wreckers feel about it, but as a doctor I'm glad that not all of you are busying yourselves with careless stunts for a change!” 

Smokescreen and Bumblebee exchanged a worried look. Neither one of them wanted to watch the others fight, and the situation was dangerously derailing itself in that direction. Bulkhead was awkwardly caught between disagreeing with Jackie and wanting to cheer him up while also agreeing with Ratchet even though he would express himself in a kinder tone. 

“Yeah, Doc, whatever,” Wheeljack dismissed Ratchet with patting him on the shoulder and turned to go be alone somewhere like he had done most of the time. 

The others let him go, not even Optimus calling after him. Everyone went back to work, and Arcee and Bumblebee took the next shift of patrolling. Ultra Magnus waited until the situation had dissolved, walked up to Bulkhead and put a comforting servo on his shoulder.

“Don't let Wheeljack bring you too much trouble,” he adviced in a professional manner that had a slightest hint of kindness in it, like the practical version of comfort that wasn't too personal. “You know how he is, as do I. He isn't very good at coping with changes in his life, surroundings or in himself. He needs to let out some steam now, but he'll adapt soon enough.”

“Yeah... Uh... Thank you, sir,” Bulkhead muttered up at him. 

Ultra Magnus looked awkward in turn and shrugged. “Maybe you should drop the 'sir' until there comes a time when it's appropriate again, if ever.”

“Yeah, sure. Let's hope so, si – Magnus.”

Ultra Magnus smiled, a small, somewhat tense expression. Maybe the lack of use strained his faceplate. “Let's hope so indeed.”

*

One of the very first things the Autobots as well as the Decepticons had done during the first weeks of ceasefire and after establishing the battle line and a base capable of managing communications was to set up a beacon which transmitted a repeating message on all Cybertronian standard sub-space frequencies. 

The Autobot version was a short declaration recited by Optimus: “To any Cybertronian be they Autobot, Decepticon or neutral, in any corner of the universe: This is Optimus Prime sending a message. I am standing on the once again living surface of our home planet, and I'm calling you all home. Not to fight, but to support our currently fragile, unofficial ceasefire. We have a chance to live in peace once again. Come home and see it made reality.”

Ratchet and Ultra Magnus had given an approving nod at the message as they sent it on its way, the rest of the Autobots already gazing up to the sky and into the space beyond it, imagining all the bots whom the message would reach. 

The atmosphere on that day had neared a celebration, and currently they could be expecting refugees any day now, having set up the beacon more than two months ago. Not even the Decepticons' message with their own version of the same story could dim their good mood much, as had been proven when Arcee intercepted a similar invitation but in Megatron's voice:

“People of Cybertron in all corners of the galaxy, this is Megatron, the leader of the Decepticons, calling you all back home to Cybertron! I have successfully managed to bring our home back to life, and Cybertron can support life once again! Cybertronians, return home and let us be united as one! Fear not, no one here on the planet will target any spacecraft bearing Cybertronian citizens seeking to return.”

Arcee had played the message back to Optimus, who showed nothing in his face as he listened to it.

“He is a very enthusiastic speech writer, isn't he,” Arcee chuckled humorlessly and with a bitter slice of sarcasm in her voice. 

Optimus nodded in agreement. “And it is as I predicted. Megatron is trying to use his role in the activation of the Omega Lock as a political leverage.”

“Oh, let him,” Arcee spat, “no one who already wasn't a Con is going to choose him over you, sir.”

Optimus smiled at her, thankful for her support. “You assume that my title as Prime still means anything to bots who have spent eons in aimless exodus.”

Arcee squeezed her servo into a fist and pressed it against her sparkchamber. “I know it will. All Cybertronians shared this war, this tragedy, and the loss of our home. We have spent stellar cycles upon stellar cycles wandering around and fighting, but it doesn't mean we've lost faith in you. I know I haven't.”

Optimus bowed his helm momentarily to honor her honesty. It wasn't everyday that Arcee voiced her true emotions so directly, and he knew to appreciate that. “Thank you, Arcee. Your words mean a great deal to me.”

He meant what he said, but kept his own opinions and speculations to himself. He trusted everyone in his team with his life and knew they returned the sentiment, but they had spent a long time with him, fighting together and saving each other's sparks over and over again. He was real to them, but how about bots who hadn't seen or possibly even heard of him in centuries? How could he expect his title or persona to mean anything to bots scattered around the galaxies, lost, fighting isolated battles for no cause, vulnerable to any hostile entities lurking in the dark corners of the universe?

The answer was that he couldn't. He would go and welcome any refugees returning home, bring them up to date and tend to their needs to the best of his abilities, but he wouldn't expect anything less than indifference or disappointment in him. 

The Matrix inside his chassis shivered slightly at the inevitable dull ache of having let his people down, and he didn't try to fight it. He took comfort only in the thought that if he had faded into a distant dream or turned into a meaningless concept, then Megatron's appeal might have peeled away like old paint as well.


	5. The lost creations of Primus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This week's chapter is early, because tomorrow is my birthday and I will be celebrating.  
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! They keep me going. 
> 
> On this week's chapter: Problem solving without shooting anyone.
> 
> I created quite a few OCs for this fic because the plot demands them. It's worth noting that Override is my OC too, even though I knowingly took the name from TF: Cybertron. I played an official writer there and made my own version.

The first group of returning Cybertronians arrived in a mid-sized battered former warship called the Lightning Bolt that bore a Decepticon symbol on its hull. The ship landed in the barren fields outside of Iacon, clearly visible from the city but quite far away in the steely plain. 

Megatron wasn't a mech to go and welcome newcomers personally, but Optimus was. Optimus took Bulkhead, Arcee and Bumblebee with him as a guard of sorts, and requested Ratchet's presence as well in case the bots aboard the ship were in need of medical attention. Once all together, their party drove out of the city and towards the landed spacecraft. 

The Autobots had barely made it out to the fields when they got company. Bumblebee noticed them first, the large shadows cast upon them from the sky. He signaled the observation to the rest of the team and they all guided their sensors to scan the air above. They were accompanied by a party of flyers, the largest group they had seen in a long time, consisting of thirteen Decepticons in total. Leading the party of eradicons was a dark drone, lighter and smaller than the rest of them: Soundwave. 

Everyone including Optimus kept a sensor on the Decepticons heading to the same direction as they did, not exactly happy about the turn the day had taken, but they had assumed the Decepticon's wouldn't exactly ignore the refugee ship either especially when it bore their mark. The Cons behaved themselves without paying their enemies any more mind than making sure they flew just above them casting their mildly annoying shadows on the Bots, and kept it up all the way until it was time to come down. 

Following Optimus' example the Autobots transformed while still a good walking distance away from the Lightning Bolt since it was polite to approach unknown bots in your botform. The Decepticons did the same, swooping down and transforming into their botforms, joining them on their little walk. The Autobots expected to be fully ignored by their unwanted company, but to their astonishment the serious Soundwave was the one to acknowledge them with a clear bow of his helm toward Optimus. 

Thankfully Optimus wasn't so surprised that he wouldn't have known what to do, but answered with a nod of his helm. 

Lightning Bolt had powered down but its frame was still humming and radiating heat. It had obviously been a long and hasty trip. In size the ship was middle ground, built to be operated by a crew of ten or so, including their living quarters and a weapons deck below. Up close it was clearly visible that this was a battle ship, its hull bearing many dents and laser burns and traces of hastily made repairs criss-crossing the perhaps once silver paint job. 

The air lock in the side slid open and the landing steps pushed out, creaking and whining as it extended and grounded itself in Cybertronian soil.

In the air lock stood a bright green mech, tall, heavily armed and with golden armor plating creating sharp edges and bulk to his otherwise lithe frame. In his chassis he had a clear if somewhat scratched Autobot mark. 

“Oh Cybertron, your day hath cometh,” the mech declared, grinning, until his optics caught his extremely mixed welcoming party. “...Oh... Well... hello there. I see it was no joke that everyone is welcomed back.”

Everyone was a bit taken aback and surprised by the arrival who was nothing like they had expected. Eradicons buzzed with disappointment and even though Soundwave showed nothing outwards, knowing him he was certainly recording every moment. 

Optimus took control of the situation and stepped forward: “We greet you, Autobot. You are the first one to arrive after the beacon was activated. I am Optimus Prime. May I ask for your designation?”

The newcomer had been inspecting the Decepticon squad with careful optics but now his optics snapped back to Optimus, taking a new look at the group before him.

“Well praise Primus,” he breathed before collecting himself, “Prime! This is an honor. Many believed you to be perished! I'm called Infra and I joined the Autobots during the exodus. I used to be a neutral, but things happened, and here I am.”

He started to step down the landing ladder and threw the Decepticons a mildly concerned look.

“Would you care to share the details of your vessel?” Optimus asked. “We thought you to be a Decepticon because of your ship.”

“Oh, right!” Infra said like he had just remembered that his ship carried a Decepticon mark. “Well that explains you Cons here. But that's a long story, you see our original ship got scrapped – pardon my language, sir – in an asteroid storm and we hitchhiked a ride. That said – oh, scrap!” 

He slapped his helm like he had just remembered something urgent. “One klik, please,” he said, spun around and rushed back into the ship. 

Ratchet stepped forward and stood at Optimus' side. “Well isn't he a lively one. He's wandered in space a tad too long, if I may say so.”

_“I don't trust him yet. Might be a Con scheme_ ,” Arcee said, wisely through their private comm line. 

_“Only time will show that. Until there's a reason to believe something akin to that, we shall treat him with utter respect_ ,” Optimus commed back. 

Then Infra was back, now with two other bots who were in considerably poorer shape than him and visibly angry with him. One of them was a heavily-built but small grounder with a black paintjob, the other one a silver-coloured seeker with yellow stripes. Both of them were leaning on Infra's sides, both of them were covered in rust spots, both of them bore the Decepticon insignia. 

“Oh dear,” Ratchet muttered, shifting into his professional gear. “I'm a doctor. Bring them here so I can take a look!”

“Yeah, well,” rasped the seeker with cold sarcasm, “a little help would be nice. Captain Infra can't carry us both no matter how much he'd like to.”

“Yes, of course,” Ratchet said and took a look around at bots standing idle. “Don't just stand there! Help them!” he snapped and randomly pointed at one of the eradicons and Bulkhead, both of whom found their pedes moving automatically under the medic's harsh orders. Bulkhead helped the grounder down easily by effortlessly lifting her in the air, and the eradicon turned out to be strong enough to bear the whole weight of the seeker who slumped against him. Infra hurried down after them, worry on his faceplate. 

When both rust-spotted Cons were lowered on the ground Ratchet knelt down next to them and began scanning them.   
“What other symptoms do you have and how long has this been going on?” he demanded.

“I'm itchy and tired, that's all. We fell ill about two stellar cycles ago so I doubt it's lethal,” the grounder answered and the seeker nodded in agreement, seconding her words. 

“Yes, yes, but we live in extremely uncertain times still. Regularly preventable diseases can be quite dangerous,” Ratchet lectured them. Then the scans were complicated and his worry changed into relief. “But you have just consumed impure nutrition. This is minor corruption in your biomechanical coding and some irritation. Pure rations and recharge should fix you both. Are there others?”

“Not any more, “Infra said, hesitant and sad. 

“We welcome you three with all our warmth, and offer our condolences,” Optimus said and gave them a moment of respectful silence. 

Soundwave stepped forward, and the two Decepticons seemed to notice him now for the first time, both of them tensing up and hurrying to salute.  
“Commander Soundwave! This is... is an honor. We apologize for getting our vessel compromised!” the grounder explained quickly. 

“Soldiers Glassrain and Ground Zero reporting in, sir!” the seeker completed. 

Soundwave acknowledged them both with a nod and his visor blinked on, showing them a fast stream of text. Both Deceptions read with haste.

When Soundwave had informed them with everything necessary and his visor dimmed down blank again, Glassrain spoke up with her wings held high in a display of confidence: “With great respect, sir, we'd like to remain with our friend. After all, technically speaking we are prisoners of war.”

“She's correct,” Ground Zero confirmed. “And we have brought disgrace to the Decepticon cause by letting our vessel fall into enemy servos, so we hardly deserve to report back to Lord Megatron.”

Glassrain threw her a sideways glance: that was pushing it. But what was said was said, and the decision was up to Soundwave. 

Optimus didn't feel he had any right to interfere with Decepticon matters and let them choose for themselves. The rest of the Autobots waited in silence too, only Ratchet continued with his scans just to be sure the femmes didn't carry anything else and probably more dangerous, and Infra swayed anxiously on his pedes. 

Soundwave gave a small and very anti-climatic nod, then gestured the eradicons to retreat. He turned to bow his helm to Optimus again, a minimal sign of respect, and then they were on their way again. 

“Well that was easy,” Arcee commented as she looked after the flyers. “I never took Cons for people to hand over freetime that easily.”

“Or maybe Megatron doesn't have any use for sick soldiers,” Bulkhead suggested.

Glassrain let out an angry hiss. “Hey! We're right here and can hear everything you say!”

Bulkhead was suddenly embarrassed. “Oh... Right. Sorry, ladies.”

“Well isn't this day just dandy!” Infra declared with his beaming smile that was back now that the problem with Decepticons had been solved. “So we are the first, huh? I suppose you have some sort of a base camp around here?”

Optimus nodded. “We do. Megatron is still around and has a base of his own in an unknown location. Our ceasefire is not official, so the situation is still highly flammable.”

“I see, I see,” Infra muttered. “Well it figures, we intercepted his message too. Is it true he revived the planet?”

Optimus was quiet for a moment, but didn't find it in himself to lie: “He was the one to turn the Omega Keys in the Omega Lock, yes. The search for the artifacts, however, was a joint effort.”

“That might come back to bite us in the aft later,” Infra noted but didn't look too worried. He clasped his servos together. “Well, I have to say that despite all this trouble and mess, it's good to be home! And if you don't mind, I think we'd like to stay here with the ship. It might be a rust bucket, but it has a good computer system and Ground Zero here can work miracles on it. We'd be happy to help with anything you need, Prime.”

Optimus smiled at him. “Do as you please. We are here to welcome you, not to enlist you.”

“We will!” Ground Zero piped up from her sitting position. “If you would provide us with a proper frequency, we could keep you informed on all messages and communications going on.”

The agreement was settled, the newest trio joined the small population of Cybertron and took the neutral ground in the still uncertain situation. 

They weren't the only ones arriving by far. Within the next three moon cycles more small spacecrafts returned but unfortunately not with as mixed crews as the Lightning Bolt had. The arrivals were mostly stray ships with a crew varying between one and twenty-five sparks, most of them exhausted, bored and hungry. One or two had crossed paths with a ship of the opposite side and had had a brief battle, but luckily nobody had died on their way back to Cybertron. 

The Lightning Bolt acted as a land mark for the news arrivals and the flat landscape around it was perfect for landing. A small camp grew around it when bots chose to stay living in their ships rather than move into Iacon's ruins and risk things like accidents in collapsing infrastructure or running into high-ranking Decepticons. 

Ratchet and Ultra Magnus took the role of welcoming the new arrivals, giving out information about the details of recent events as much as they could and managing as much of the restlessness as they were able to. Optimus made appearances as often as he dared, but Megatron's undetected yet certain presence was still great enough a concern that he didn't dare to risk the safety of those seeking sanctuary and peace. Who knew how and when the warlord would choose to face him again, but when that happened Optimus wanted to make sure refugees wouldn't get caught in the middle of it.

The general reaction to the Prime was more positive than Optimus had dared to hope for. He hadn't met anyone who would blame all the misery on him and his failure as a leader, but drained dull gazes and reluctant greetings were bad enough to drag his mood. 

Most returning refugees flooded their surroundings with relief and hope when they met Optimus Prime. Perhaps they were happy that he had indeed been the one who sent the message and that all promised in said message really was there waiting for them; maybe it was comforting to see something as significant as a Prime remaining of the old Cybertron that had once been, but the reactions were genuine and that was what mattered. 

Megatron, however, was in the wind and the situation didn't seem to be about to change anytime soon. Not the Autobots nor anyone at the refugee camp reported a sight of him, but quite a few of the returned Decepticons had left with a group of their own toward Iacon. They knew this because one of the vehicons Smokescreen had befriended had told them this directly. 

“Yes, some have returned to Lord Megatron,” Chromehook told Smokescreen when they were pushing rubble side by side. They had finished with the street they had met on and simply moved on to others. Iacon wasn't about to run out of trash and scrap to clear in a long while, and since Bulkhead had gotten an idea that maybe blowing something up would cheer Wheeljack up and they had brought down several unstable buildings in uptown, there really was a lot to do. 

“But why?” Smokescreen asked, genuinely wondering.

Chromehook hummed a gentle little laugh. He felt unusually mature in Smokescreen's company and didn't complain about it. “Well you wouldn't understand since you're an Autobot,” he explained, “I suppose Optimus Prime would just let you desert if you asked nicely, am I correct?”

Smokescreen shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. I mean he would encourage you to make the right choice, but some Autobots have been coming and going as they like and it's no issue.”

“I see. Lord Megatron isn't like that,” Chromehook said and shivered. “I shouldn't even be here, but the likelihood for me to get caught when there are several others wandering around and – uh – extending our orders is pretty small... But you don't just walk away from the Decepticons. We have our place, we have our mission, and we have our cause.”

Smokescreen looked uncomfortable. “You sound like you still respect him.”

Chromehook didn't see any reason to apologize for the truth. “Lord Megatron is our liberator, the voice of the oppressed. I don't want to go to war anymore, but I won't abandon the cause either. Not until justice is served.”

Smokescreen didn't really understand what Chromehook meant by justice, and once he was back at the base again he voiced his confusion to Optimus. Optimus gave him a leveling look as if weighing how much he should explain about the matter at hand to the young mech. Smokescreen made a serious effort at looking patient and mature, trying to show he was worthy of the full story. 

“Do you know the nature of history, Smokescreen?” Optimus began in a voice that promised a lecture.

Smokescreen wasn't sure what he meant so he shook his helm.

“History works in a spiral. Some creatures with a shorter life span are often under the impression that history is a linear process of constant progression, but a Cybertronian who has studied this through a long time period knows that time and progress don't work like that. 

“Our Golden Age of research, inventions and exploration came slowly to an end, and nostalgia kept us from moving forth. Our society fell into stasis and a rigid system of caste and function-based segregation was born out of that apathy. The oppression caused so much pain and bitterness that it lead into a violent conflict that was our civil war, which might be finally coming to an end. Can you guess what comes next?”

“Um... Rebuilding?” Smokescreen suggested quickly, anxious to hear more. 

“That comes regardless, if only the warfare is discontinued,” said Optimus, “but there are no victors in this war. Our planet might be alive, but the surface is destroyed and we are still on the brink of extinction. You may not see it yet, but everyone has experienced devastating losses. The remaining Cybertronians have been scattered around the galaxy and communications have been severed so everyone's hopes are still high, but eventually there will be a great number of those who will not come back. Grief is a painful burden to bear, Smokescreen, and it can turn into hatred and bitterness easily. 

“Your friend Chromehook was a miner back in the days of the caste system. You are too young to remember those, but his life was only constant labor in the dark, nothing new or freely chosen ahead of him. We stand on the edge of a new era, and I hope with all my spark it will be a better one, but I can understand why Chromehook worries it might be just as bad as the one behind us.”

Smokescreen was out of words. When he had been created and ejected from the Well of Allspark it had already been a war time. He didn't know what it had been like to live in the old Cybertron, he had simply seen cities burn and Cons tearing everything in their path apart. He hadn't thought about the past but looked strictly ahead. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to not have anything to look forward to, and the attempt alone made his tank turn in anxiety. 

“But... Why Megatron? We don't want anyone to suffer either! He's a tyrant!” The words left his vocalizer before he had time to process what he was actually asking and still didn't know.

Optimus however seemed to understand him and gave a slow exvent, a small crack in his usually so collected image. “That he is, but to some people a tyrant can mean certainty. When someone makes grand decisions by themselves alone, to some the simplicity and absolution of it can be a comfort. And don't forget that whatever Megatron has become, in the beginning he was simply one of them, a lower caste bot who fought to end the oppression. To some he still is the mech he was then.”

That was the end of that conversation. Optimus had an amazing ability to put things simply but still overflowing with new information and the mixture left Smokescreen quiet. He still thought there was one certain thing in this situation even though he had met some nice Decepticons, and it was that Megatron was evil. 

*

The sub-space messages of Optimus Prime and Megatron traveled far across the space, their multi-frequency broadcast saving them from getting scrambled in interfering radiations and space anomalies. Finally after traveling for several Cybertronian weeks they reached a large war ship floating in space with only small thruster engines running, a colony of several smaller ships scattered around it, most of them dark.

A communications officer aboard the giant war ship caught both of the messages almost at the same time. He nearly couldn't believe what was fed into his audio receptors and thought it was someone's lousy idea of a joke at first, but after running a several voice print tests (all positive; no question), comparing the messages to what was available in records (that query came back empty) and tracking the origins he had to accept the authenticity of them both. 

He sat there for a long moment trying to comprehend the news he almost didn't dare to believe were true before it occurred to him that he was supposed to report this kind of thing to someone. 

He sprang up from his station and darted down the corridor. “Captain! Captain, news! Tremendous news! Extra important news!”

He stumbled to the main bridge, mostly empty now during the ship's night cycle, only the Captain and a skeleton crew supervising the basic systems that were running around the clock. 

A lean-built femme bot who stood in front of the main screen that showed the scans and calculations or the star system turned to face the communication officer. She was sky blue, white and silver, all round and smooth shapes without sharp edges or bulks anywhere, but still a four-wheeled grounder with heavily armored legs and pedes and a helm that had see-through neon highlights along its sides and protective optic-wear strapped on it. 

“What is it?” she asked, her steely voice clearly indicating that she was preparing for bad news.

The communication officer took a moment to vent holding a digit up the whole time like his permission to speak was on the tip of it. 

“We just received two messages from Cybertron,” he managed to say. “They were sent by Optimus Prime and Megatron, both of them inviting us back home. Cybertron's core has been restored, Captain!”

An absolute silence fell. Every single spark on the bridge was alert and waiting for something to happen, maybe for the Captain to speak and either deny or confirm the news.

“How certain you are of this?” Captain asked, barely containing herself.

“I checked the authenticity of both messages multiple times, Captain! Voice prints match, as do the coordinates of the messages' origins.”

Every single pair of optics turned to their Captain who stood still, rigid and optics wide, processing the information. Then, with an unbelievably steady voice she asked: “How are our energon stocks?”

One of the bots minding the consoles came back to himself and hastily tapped in a few keys. 

“We are clear to fuel the crew and colony for six standard moon phases if energon is rationed correctly, Captain. The ship is capable of interstellar leaps for two standard weeks.”

The Captain yanked her pede from the floor and walked over to another console. “Make a ship-wide announcement of an immediate departure. Call the better recharged alpha crew to report for duty in one cycle. And you, officer Downshift!” she pointed at the communication officer who stood in attention. 

“Yes, Captain?”

“Take me to your work station and play me both of these messages. I shall see if they are suitable to be played for the crew and the passengers.”

“Yes, Captain!”

“And for the rest of you,” the Captain said and now a small tremor of pure joy leaked into her voice, “disengage the Exodus Protocol and calculate us a way to Cybertron. Let's take Red Star home.”

*

There was a disturbance in the refugee camp. That was how Ultra Magnus put it when he commed Optimus about it, and it was about energon. He, Arcee and Bumblebee were helping around in the camp with settlement and organizing and keeping record of the resources they had when they were pooled, and energon had come in question. 

Optimus had feared the day when fuel became a question, but was hardly surprised. He commed he was on his way and instructed them to keep things halted until he got there. Their base was nearly empty. They spent the majority of their time with the new arrivals, doing everyday things like they were, clearing the near area, scavenging for useful materials and setting up better communications all the time, but with a considerable Decepticon group hiding somewhere in Iacon and the fragile unofficial ceasefire between then they couldn't exactly abandon their position in the city. 

When Optimus arrived at the camp, Ultra Magnus and Arcee had placed themselves between a group of Autobots and a random group of vehicons, a few Decepticon refugees and one lone bot who wore an Autobot mark and looked very lost. Even before he reached the hearing distance Optimus could see they were arguing.

“We all need it! You could show some remorse and do us all a favor!” snapped a yellow Autobot at the vehicons, who posed aggressively and gestured rudely back at him.

“If we all need it then you help as well!” spat back a Decepticon who looked like he would have launched at the yellow bot if Ultra Magnus hadn't had a servo against his chassis. 

“Like we know that kind of work! It's your field, you do it!” argued another Autobot who stood next to the yellow one, who nodded in agreement. 

“So this is what you wanted all along!” growled one of the vehicons who stood in front of his companions like the appointed speaker of the group. “You don't care about anything but your own afts and comfortably sitting on them while others do the work for you. Some noble cause you have, Autobot!” The word “Autobot” was snarled like a cruel insult that it perhaps was. 

Optimus transformed and walked up to the upcoming fight. Bystanders had started to gather up around the arguing group to see and hear better, but they all gave way to the Prime. 

A relieved look rose to Arcee's faceplate when Optimus stepped in and interrupted the argument: “What seems to be the matter here?”

All gazes turned to him, the Autobots on one side looked at him with a mix of embarrassment but on the other hand also with joy for a certain ally in the argument, but the Decepticons looked at him and especially his Autobot mark with a fierce resentment he hadn't seen in a while. 

The speaker vehicon pointed at the Autobots. “They want to send us back to the mines!”

Optimus raised his optic ridges and gave Ultra Magnus a questioning look.

“A new energon line has been detected,” Ultra Magnus informed him. “They disagree on who should be doing the mining.”

“We refuse to do your dirty work for you!” the vehicon declared at Optimus, supported by his peers behind him. “May we remind you that despite the current peaceful state of our affairs we still serve Lord Megatron. If you want energon, you go and dig it up yourself! Decepticons are slaves to no one!”

The one Autobot clearly siding with the Cons on the matter looked very uncomfortable, digits nervously tapping on the Autobot mark in her chassis and nudging the ground with one of her huge pedes. She was in the same size category as Ultra Magnus and left all the vehicon's in her shadow, but she had hardly said anything. 

“We don't want to enslave you, you paranoid self-righteous idiots!” groaned the yellow Autobot. 

Optimus raised his servo. “No one will be forced to do labor they don't wish to do,” he declared with a tone that made it explicit there would be no discussing about this. “But mining is a shared interest and we all need energon. Fair and proper work cycles and shifts will be organized, and no one will be forced to participate against their will.”

Optimus gave them all a leveling look. There was a quiet murmur in the crowd around them, but he ignored it and kept his attention on the arguing bots. The Autobots looked a bit embarrassed and awkward but didn't say anything, the vehicons in turn surprised but pleasantly so. The one Autobot siding with the miners had stopped tapping her mark. 

“Ultra Magnus here is a well-read expert on law and its practices,“ Optimus continued when no one presented any counterarguments. “I'm sure he would be more than happy to help us come up with a fair solution.”

Ultra Magnus straightened his spinal strut and reset his vocalizer. “That is true,” he said, immediately slipping in to working gear. “And I will make sure everyone's interests are taken into consideration, regardless the mark on your chassis.”

Vehicons exchanged hasty looks with their engines were purring. They appeared to be communicating through their private commlink for a moment, and then the leader spoke: “We would be willing to mine if the spoils are shared fairly.”

“Who said they wouldn't be?” mumbled the yellow Autobot to his companions but went ignored by the Decepticons. 

“Shouldn't we lead the mining operation since we have the most experience?” The femme Autobot among the Cons spoke for the first time. She looked uncertain if she was allowed to speak for the Decepticons, but no one objected but rather looked excited when the possibility of a leading position occurred to them.

“We shall see about that,” Ultra Magnus said, Primus bless his neutrality. “What is your designation and specialty?”

The femme bot saluted. “Designation: Magenta. I used to work as an engineer specialized in explosives.”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “Very well. And you stand over there because...?”

Magenta looked embarrassed again and slumped down slightly. She seemed to posses a shy personality and her size didn't help with that. “Forced labor is wrong, sir,” she muttered and kept her optics firmly on Ultra Magnus, dodging both the evaluating looks from the Decepticons and the inspection and judgment from her Autobot peers.

She was nervous for nothing, Optimus saw. If there was anything to be read from the opposing side, it was respect. Optimus stepped forward and spoke to Magenta directly: “You should always speak your mind freely. I can assure you that Ultra Magnus will listen to all opinions equally. All of them.” The last part he directed at everyone present, assuring both Decepticons and Autobots. 

The danger of a fight seemed to evaporate and everyone took Optimus' words to the spark and if not right away believed them, at least trusted that they could hold him up to them if things drifted downhill. The tension that had dominated the atmosphere loosened, and Ultra Magnus' office-like mannerisms and neutral tone extinguished any remaining aggression, and the camp returned to the routine.

When Ultra Magnus lead the bots who were interested in mining work aside to negotiate, Arcee dropped out of the group and walked up to Optimus instead.

“That was close,” she said with a low voice.

Optimus nodded. “Indeed. I hope they come to an agreement quickly. When bots start running low on fuels fights break out easily.”

“We're on safe ground for now,” Arcee reminded him. “All the ships have large stocks of energon, some have even shared.”

“Yes. Let us hope the energon pumping to the surface is pure and usable.”

*

At the sign of the first light in the morning Bulkhead woke up. It was a habit that dated back to old Cybertron and his Wrecker days, and he suspected it would be a hard habit to lose if he ever wanted to do so. Everyone else was always still recharging when Bulkhead was already up and about, and he had grown to quite enjoy the quiet mornings alone. 

He thought of Miko and how she was the hardest person to wake, even on Saturdays when there was no school and only fun, and Bulkhead had to honk for at least a half a cycle to get her to open her window and yell that she was _coming down soon, jeez!_

Miko came to his mind often. Their time together had in reality been quite brief, but still the little human femme would have her place in Bulkhead's spark for the rest of his days. Even before they left Earth he had decided he'd come back as often as he could when their ways would part, and at this rate he might manage that in just a few stellar cycles!

He was yanked back from his cheerful thoughts when his optics caught something strange: Wheeljack's berth was empty. The base was quiet and he was nowhere to be seen, which was odd because if someone could match Miko in sleepiness it would be Jackie. 

Bulkhead thought of Jackie and the past moon cycle, and his spark sank when he thought what Miko would say if she knew how he had been avoiding Jackie and his feelings he didn't understand anymore. 

“You never give up on your friends!” Miko's bright voice lectured him in his mind. He shuffled his pedes anxiously, guilt welling up in him. 

Whatever was bothering Jackie he couldn't take away just like that, but he should at least reach out. At least give it a try, he'd ask and then listen to whatever the other had to say. That was a good plan. Then there was the problem of finding the mech in question. 

Turned out that Wheeljack didn't have a deserter in him and so he hadn't technically left the base but was sitting on top of it. The former station had had a building on it, a shopping center made of metal and glass, now torn down to just three floors filled with sparkling glass dust and scrap metal. 

“Hey, Jackie!” Bulkhead cheerily greeted him. “Aren't you up early!”

Wheeljack didn't turn around to see who it was. “I never went to recharge.”

“Oh.” Bulkhead didn't know what to say to that. Jackie had always been a heavy sleeper who could power down anytime, anywhere. The feeling of oddness only grew. “Well... Um... What's up for you today? You know we could demolish more ruins if you want to!”

Wheeljack shrugged and Bulkhead felt helpless. He dropped his cheerful act and gave a long deep exvent, then sat heavily down next to Jackie. He took a rogue glance at his friend's faceplate and saw dull optics staring into the horizon, passively taking in the sunrise. 

“Hey, Jackie...” Bulkhead started, “wanna tell me what's been eating you?”

Wheeljack shrugged again, gaze never flickering from the landscape of ruins before them. He clearly wasn't in the talking mood but that might have also been due to his low energy levels. 

Bulkhead decided to speak from his spark, then he would at least down his all: “I know you ain't alright, Jackie. I'm your friend and I can see something's bugging your system. I wish I knew what it was so I could help you, but I don't, and I won't know either unless you tell me. I really, really would like to help you, Jackie.”

Wheeljack was still and silent, and Bulkhead didn't know if he had even heard what he had just said, but decided to stay there with him anyway until he was told to leave, and even then he would try to argue. 

The sun had time to creep over the horizon before Wheeljack finally slumped down on his place and offlined his optics. Bulkhead suppressed an urge to reach out and support him and swallowed down more words that tried to come out. 

“I...” Wheeljack started, his voice feeble and unclear. “I miss... I miss the Wreckers.”

Grief. 

That's what it was. Bulkhead understood the feeling but not the timing; he had grieved their fallen comrades when they fell. He had accepted a long time ago that they had gone ahead and were now waiting for them in the Allspark. 

“So many of our brothers and sisters in arms are gone even though they'd deserve to see this,” Wheeljack said, voice barely more than a whisper. “And not just the Wreckers, just good Autobots who fought for our home. They would deserve to be here and see this morning. And instead...” he gritted his dentae. “Instead the place is swarming with Cons! I can tolerate the low-ranking workers and others, but how come Megatron and his officers are allowed to lurk around here?! What is Optimus _thinking_?! That Megatron is just going to stop being Megatron if he's ignored long enough?!”

Bulkhead had to admit, he was uneasy about the high-ranking Decepticon presence as well, especially since they didn't know their enemies' exact location. But he wasn't Optimus and he didn't know how to solve a problem like that, so he had no suggestions to offer about it. 

The grief he could work with, though.   
“You know what we could do today?” Bulkhead asked.

“What?” Wheeljack asked though he didn't sound like he really cared about anything that Bulkhead could come up with.

“We should build something. You still know how to, right?”

“I managed my own space craft for decades. Yeah, I can build stuff.”

Bulkhead gave a warm smile and clasped his servos together. “Good. 'Cause we should go and build a proper memorial. Make it like a shrine, with a place to meditate and with a lot of space, like a simple smoothed block of metal where people can carve names on. What do you say?”

For the first time in that morning Wheeljack turned to fully face him. 

“I'd like that.”


	6. The inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! It warms my heart to see this fic getting such attention.

Megatron was pleased with the way things were unfolding. Soundwave kept reporting their troops increasing in number and that the Autobots were getting more and more careless every day. Even Optimus Prime, who in Megatron's opinion should have known better, was making regular appearances in the growing refugee camp on the fields outside Iacon. 

Taking him down would be easy now. It was purely a matter of time before his plan would come together and be ready for execution, and then the final blow would be delivered. He could almost feel the victory in the tips of his digits.

Shockwave and Soundwave were working almost around the clock on their project and it was coming up nicely. The two of them could work miracles together, and had already built a considerable computer system almost as good as the one aboard Nemesis, all of which with what Shockwave had already possessed in his underground laboratory and what they simply had managed to get their servos on. They really were quite a pair.

Megatron wished that could be said about everyone under his command. Starscream had been sneaking around, trying to insert himself into the inner circle again. Since Dreadwing had taken the Forge and deserted them after the fate of his twin's corpse had been revealed, Starscream was technically back in his old post, but Megatron was reluctant to trust him. The seeker hadn't been punished enough for his incompetence yet. If anything, the blunder surrounding his return and the loss of a good officer only added to the list of reasons why Starscream ought to feel deep regret. 

Starscream didn't deserve the validation of being included among the other high-ranking mechs, and Megatron made sure he realized this. They were walking through the Decepticon base, Starscream quietly and hopefully following Megatron towards the research and communication lab, only to be denied and dismissed at the door. Megatron didn't even look at Starscream when he told him to leave, just gave the order and gestured him to leave before shutting the door.

The underlying message didn't escape Starscream. He knew what Megatron was doing to him. He had spent far too long among the Decepticons and especially close to Megatron to miss the prolonged punishment. Alienation hurt, but he could bear it. He always had and he always would, however long it would take for the scales to be balanced between him and Megatron. Starscream told himself that nothing lasted forever, not even Megatron's anger, and no matter how bitter and humiliating the process to forgiveness would be, he could hold on and take it. He knew he could, and if that was to be his part, then he would hang on and ride the current.

Suddenly Starscream came back to himself, snapping himself away from the dark thoughts he had let himself wander into. He shook his helm and grounded himself, concentrated on his pedes on the cold floor and forced himself to turn away from the door Megatron had shut to his face once again. The place his processor had strayed to was a bad one, full of repressed memories and hurt, ambition and thoughts of murder and payback. He had just wiggled his way back here, into the ranks of the only place he could exist in, and the worst mistake he could make now was to screw it up for himself. 

Especially now when Megatron was planning something big. He had been in an uncharacteristically good mood for the past few weeks, and Starscream suspected he had a plan to bring down Optimus Prime once and for all and seize his place as the one true leader of Cybertron. One should make sure to root for the right side when that time came. 

Loneliness made Starscream's pedes take him to the most curious places sometimes, and today, like many times before, they took him to the crew's wing and the make-shift medical bay. 

Summoning Knockout back to Nemesis back on Earth was possibly one of the best ideas Starscream had had, and if Starscream would have to pick one member of their crew he actually enjoyed spending time with and would voluntarily do so, it would be Knockout. The medic didn't take everything so overtly seriously as the rest, and Starscream was willing to forgive the unfocused, careless fun and laziness that Knockout was prominent to exercise as long as he had someone to air his grievances to without being constantly mocked or brushed off. Knockout had too much sarcastic humor and too little thought for anything serious for the seeker's taste, but he wasn't intimidating or spiteful, and that alone made the grounder into something that resembled a friend to him. 

Knockout looked surprised but happy to see Starscream around his work station and raised his servo in greeting. 

“Well fancy that, Commander! What brings you here?” he asked and turned to face him with servos on his pelvic plates. 

“Nothing important, doctor,” Starscream grunted. He really should have thought up something to say to the medic before he barged in on him. 

“Nothing, you say?” Knockout hummed with a knowing smile. “They kicked you out of the meeting again, didn't they?” 

Starscream threw him an ugly glare and brought his wings up in a warning gesture. “Lord Megatron remains suspicious of me, yes. In case that is what you're asking,” he answered carefully.

Knockout didn't pay any mind to his sour mannerism, just shook his helm. “Well well, that's unfortunate. It makes sense, though. You were absent very long, Commander. Who knows what horrible thoughts of truth and justice you may have absorbed during that time!”

Starscream rolled his optics and scoffed at the medic, who only looked even more pleased with himself. 

“Lord Megatron is planning something,” Starscream said. 

Knockout snorted. “Isn't he always? Our fearless leader is a tad bit foolish, though.”

Starscream stepped closer. One of Knockout's best features was his gossip and the dirt he gathered on everyone, and Starscream felt almost privileged to share those with him. He lowered his voice and asked: “What do you mean?”

“I mean that he should take a look around,” Knockout muttered and nudged his helm meaningfully to the side. “Do you see anyone around here? It's quiet.”

“Patrolling duties,” Starscream said.

This time Knockout laughed out loud. “Well there sure is a new trend of taking up long patrol duties then! And it just keeps getting more popular. I hear even some officers are picking up patrol duties, if you know what I mean.”

Even if Starscream hadn't known what he meant, the heavy look he received would have been clarification enough. He felt his faceplate heating up and took a nervous look around before he could stop himself.

“I carry out duties as a responsible seeker, you could never prove - “

“I'm not saying a thing, Commander,” Knockout gently interrupted his defense speech. “But you must have noticed the – um – let's say a _shortage_ in our crew.”

Starscream narrowed his optics at the other. Knockout had never stabbed him in the back before, but that was hardly a reason to consider him completely trustworthy. “I may have,” he admitted. “What of it?”

Knockout gave him a meaningful look like Starscream was already supposed to know what he was talking about, and maybe he did. They stared at each other for the better half of a cycle before Knockout turned around to needlessly arrange his medical instruments.

“Well, you tell me, Commander. Are you still up for a fight?” he asked.

Starscream blinked and tilted his helm. Knockout had his back to him so it was impossible to read his expression, and he felt like he was about to take a flight despite an issued storm warning. 

Knockout went on: “Don't you want to go out there and be among people? Like, real people? Not aliens or enemies. Don't you miss Vos?”

“What do you know of Vos?” Starscream snapped. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh but the mention of his long lost home city was like an unprovoked slap to his face and it stung. 

Knockout ignored his tone and spared him a serious look over his shoulder. “Nothing, save for the fact you are from there. My original question still stands: Do you want to keep fighting?”

“Vos is no more,” Starscream flatly said, a dull pain invading his spark. “And everyone knows my name and my deeds. I can't exactly go for a casual little stride and expect not to get torn apart by vengeful comrades and friends of bots I've snuffed. And they would probably gladly hold me responsible for everything Megatron has done, too. I am the second in command, after all.” 

There was too much truth and sense in his words that they could not be argued with, and Knockout wasn't the type to babble out comforting lies. His own situation was better than Starscream's but not by much. He wouldn't have to take blame for anyone but himself, but he had done all sorts of things during his stellar cycles as a Decepticon. “Are you really responsible for that much, though?” Knockout teased and turned around to face the other mech again, leaning against the working desk behind him. “Forgive me, Commander, but you're not exactly known for your cruelty on battlefield.”

Starscream huffed loudly at him and rolled his optics again. “I am an Air Commander. That was my post even before the Exodus, before the Decepticons and before the war. I was a known flyer even when Megatron was a nameless gladiator crawling in the pits in Kaon's filth!” He snapped his mouth shut and looked momentarily shaken by his own words and hastily glanced left and right and up in case someone had heard him. 

Knockout was slightly taken aback by Starscream's sudden outburst of bitter hate but didn't comment on it. 

“Well... Anyway...” Starscream continued, calmer now. “I was in the Air Force. People hate us. We rain death and destruction upon them. Don't take me for a fool, Knockout, I know fully well that even though grounders can't tell us apart when we're in the air it doesn't mean they wouldn't blame every single seeker for the air raids. That is exactly what it means. I will be blamed for sparks snuffed during missions I didn't even order, not to mention fly.”

He looked restless and grim, and even though those were primary features of his persona, now they were clearly heightened because of the subject at hand. Knockout took pride in his ability to interpret non-verbal communication, but reading Starscream and his mixed messages and secretive behavior was challenging even to him. The fact that Knockout was able to understand him underlined their relationship, stroking his ego and making him feel special. He would have liked to reach out and touch the seeker, to offer some sort of support and reassurance, but he knew the other well enough to know that wouldn't be welcome. 

“Maybe you should scan a new alt form, Commander. Cause some confusion, you know, claim a case of mistaken identity,” Knockout suggested, smirking. “I just know that you'd make an absolutely stunning grounder.”

Starscream's EM field flared up with anger like he had just been mortally insulted. “Like I would want to transform into a dusty surface-crawler! I will rather risk being publicly lynched, thank you very much!”

Knockout burst into laughter, and Starscream's irritation turned first into surprise, then into sheepish downwards glance. He looked a bit embarrassed with himself but also thankful that Knockout received it with humor. 

“That may be so, Starscream,” Knockout said when he calmed down, only a smile left of his laughter, “but what I have gathered may comfort you. No one wants to fight anymore, at least for now. Our home is crawling out of a well, so to speak, and even our troops want to help it. Do you?”

“I am a loyal servant of Lord Megatron, and Lord Megatron wants to seize the throne,” Starscream spoke the words like a well-rehearsed speech, worrying that Laserbeak might be listening and recording. 

Knockout held no such worries but allowed them for Starscream. His smile tilted and became lop-sided. “Do you intend to be a loyal servant even if Lord Megatron would tear Cybertron apart once again?”

It hurt Starscream to summon his next words, but he forced himself anyway: “Yes, I do.”

“Good to know that, Commander,” Knockout said, curiously neutral. “But do tell, completely unrelated, that if you had a chance to go wherever you wanted without any threat, wouldn't you go flying in the skies above Vos?”

For a long time Starscream just looked at Knockout, serious and calculating and trying to figure him out, and Knockout looked back at him, willingly open for inspection. Then the seeker bowed his helm and gave a long deep exvent like he was trying to purge his system of something else than just extra heat. “Oh, I would, doctor. I would.”

 

Megatron was preparing to speak to the troops. He looked with great pride at how their base was once again filled with loyal Decepticons that had rushed to answer his call from across the galaxy, all ready to fight for their cause. 

He had welcomed back Demolisher, an expert on explosions and heavy weaponry, who had arrived in an empty Autobot ship he had high-jacked and killed the crew of. Back was also Crystalrush, a former member of the working caste who had gladly abandoned work in the factories' waste disposal to fight for free Cybertron. She was sharp as a box-cutter, and even though she lacked education due to her caste status she was almost as valuable an asset as Soundwave in her own chosen field of engineering. A former gladiator Inferno, a fierce warrior with legendary sword-fighting skills, and his bondmate Mayday, a gambler and a professional hitman, were both creations of Kaon and hailed Megatron as one of their own, and made up for the loss of Dreadwing both in dedication and fighting skills. 

There were others too, but a noticeable loss was the absence of Stormsplitter the Welder and her bondmates Voltage and Skybreak. Crystalrush had left Cybertron in the fleet under Stormplitter's command, but they had been separated in the first great battle right outside their solar system, and Crystalrush confirmed at least Skybreak's termination. She didn't know anything about the others, and Megatron couldn't really blame her since he didn't know any more than she did. 

The current situation was most unfortunate and hard to manage. It was difficult to be at war when all your soldiers were scattered among foreign stars and you had no means of reaching and commanding them.  
Megatron was however pleased that this many of his officers still functioned and hailed him as their Lord, as did many foot soldiers he didn't know by designation. 

There were some traitors and deserters too, but they would be dealt with later. Soundwave had brought in pictures of two bots designated Glassrain and Ground Zero who had not only failed to report back to him but had also allied themselves with the enemy. He would see both of them pay for their selfish treachery, but all in good time. 

Now it was time to announce the plan. He walked in the middle of the base where he could be heard everywhere, around him and in the rooms above. Soundwave stood next to him like he had ever since the first days of their revolution in the catacombs under Kaon. Every single bot fell silent immediately when Megatron raised his servos as a sign he was about to speak.

“My loyal Decepticons!” he addressed the troops with a voice that carried through the many floors of the base, “you have heard my call and returned to me from the far edges of space! I, Megatron, the Terror of Kaon and the leader of Decepticons, have finally managed to bring our planet back to life. On a far away planet I located the Omega Keys and turned them in a lock forged by the Ancients themselves, reviving our home once again, letting it fill with light! 

“I know you feel the same love for our home as I do, and know in your sparks that Primus has awakened and blessed us, his creations who brought on the resurrection, with great fortune. For now our home is barren, but it is but a necessary step towards a society where we all have a purpose, where we all have a place we deserve, where no privileged council or self-important bureaucrats order us around!

“The dedication and loyalty of the Decepticons knows no bounds, and soon we shall remind every bot on Cybertron of this as we take what is rightfully ours and claim the glory that we deserve!”

Every single Decepticon raised their servos in the air and let our a roar of thrill and passion. They knew their place, they knew whom they were loyal to, and they were ready to serve and fight on.  
Megatron smiled to himself. He knew they were all there for him, forever loyal, and for him and him alone to command. 

And he wouldn't be the one waiting for the other side to make the first move, no. That was no way to do battle of any kind, political or physical. He would take matters in his own servos right here and now. Shockwave and Soundwave were ready. The plan would be set in motion with a simple push of a button. 

*

Across the town in the Autobot base Ratchet and Arcee got a nasty surprise as their computer screens received an interrupting stream of information that took over the system. 

At the same time in the refugee camp the daily routines were interrupted and Ultra Magnus, Infra and Magenta who were having a meeting with several other representative bots turned their stunned gazes at the hijacked computer screens of the Lightning Bolt. 

“Get Optimus Prime here,” Ultra Magnus muttered to Magenta who recovered from her shock first. “Get him here right this klik.”

“Ye- yes, sir!” Magenta said and hurried out and across the camp in search of their Prime, leaving the other bots mute in their surprise on their seats. 

On the screen in the abandoned underground station in Iacon that was the Autobot base as well as on the screens of the Lightning Bolt and on every single computer on Cybertron that had any ability to receive signals from outside, was the well-known, feared and unforgotten face of the Decepticon leader Megatron. 

“Greetings, my fellow Cybertronians!” Megatron began and his voice carried strong and vibrant across the whole camp and resonated in the underground base. “I see you have answered the messages calling you home, and I am pleased to receive you all! Firstly, welcome back to the home we once shared and will share again. 

“I am sure it has been brought to your attention how the resurrection of our planet that once again allows us the blessing of Primus was a deed achieved by Decepticon efforts and that it was me, Megatron of Kaon, who activated the Omega Lock and allowed life on Cybertron once again. The truth is, after all, one of the most basic virtues our Prime has sworn himself to. 

“It is with the greatest of regrets I must bring this matter to your attention and remind you all that the disagreements between my Decepticons and the Autobots lack any kind of official resolving. Due to whose shortcomings, I don't comment on, but this is a fact and it must be addressed, and thus I am speaking to you now. 

“My fellow Cybertronians, my brethren, my people. Let us together finish one era and bring about another, and let it be done with true honor of old warriors. Loyal Decepticons have returned to me, and I am willing to lead our vast group to the new age of peace and rebuilding, if only Optimus Prime will allow it. 

“I speak now not only to you, but also to the Prime somewhere among you. Do you want peace? Do you want a united, strong Cybertron? If so, then answer me and let us negotiate the terms of our peace and the fate of our people. 

“If you accept, Optimus Prime, meet me tonight on the nineteenth cycle on the main street of Iacon. Take with you your team, and I will bring my trusted officers and we shall speak of peace. 

May the new age come.”

And with that, the screens flickered dark before rebooting their previous functions. An absolute silence reigned and no one dared to look at one another. 

Ultra Magnus clenched his servo into a fist while he considered Megatron's message. It was a meticulously crafted and well executed performance, Ultra Magnus would give him that much even if only to properly calculate the threat he posed. It would most likely appeal to the general public that hadn't seen the warlord in hundreds of thousands of stellar cycles and now only longed for peace. Ultra Magnus couldn't deny he too wished for the end of the conflict - but not if it ended with Megatron in power. 

But Megatron was too clever to believe he could just attack and take over with hostilities. That was no longer a possibility, if it had ever been. The refugees wouldn't accept a Prime willing to establish his power with brute force, and Ultra Magnus would rather have his spark snuffed than see Optimus Prime bend before the demands of a would-be tyrant. But Megatron had extended his servo in a gesture of peace on his own accord, and Optimus was most likely at least going to hear him out, even if the warlord was just about to list demands. 

Knowing Megatron though, the whole thing was most likely a trap. 

Ultra Magnus wasn't happy to know Megatron would have his officers beside him, but at least he and the rest of Team Prime would be there by Optimus' side as well. It was also impossible to tell what Megatron had meant by 'officers', whether it was the usual line-up the rest of the team were familiar with from Earth, or if it included new faces who had joined him after they had arrived back on Cybertron.

Ultra Magnus was most eager to find out for himself later, but now it was important to contain panic, remain calm and regroup, and _where was Optimus in a moment like this?_

 

Back in the base Arcee and Ratchet shared a rage that rendered them both mute and ready to tear something – anything – to scrap. 

“I don't believe anything he said for a nanoklik,” Ratchet finally managed to eject through gritting dentae. “He always had a way with words, and every time all his promises and reassurances have been as empty as Cybertron's core after he was done with it!”

Arcee shared the medic's resentment and suspicion but held her own back in order to calm him down. She laid her servo in a comforting manner on Ratchet's elbow and tried to smile.

“I know. We all do. There's not a single bot who doesn't know Megatron's true nature,” she said and was surprised how steady her voice was. She could almost believe her own words. “He won't fool anyone, believe me. At least this will finally come to an end, and we will be beside Optimus as it is seen through.”

Ratchet gave an incoherent grumble of doubts and curses, but also gave her a glance that spoke volumes of how touched he was. 

Back at the camp Bumblebee and Smokescreen stared at a lone screen of a spacecraft they had been shaping up and shared a heavy, miserable look. They didn't need to exchange words to know they would be on their way again and stepping into a predacon's den. It would be for Cybertron, but neither one particularly looked forward to the obvious trap that had been laid out before them. 

Bumblebee reached out and took Smokescreen's servo in his own. 

“No worries. Will protect,” he assured the younger soldier who couldn't muster up words of his own, but simply nodded back. 

 

Back aboard the Lightning Bolt the silence was finally beginning to evaporate. Infra reset his vocalizer and stood up from his seat, skittish in the awkward situation.

“Well... That was some turn of events... Wasn't it, people?” he said nervously.

“Is it true what Megatron said?” demanded one of the mechs, called Powerline. He stood up without any regards to Infra or Ultra Magnus who were both standing as well as a sign that it was their turn to speak. “Was it really him who revived Cybertron despite what we've been led to believe?”

“Was it not our Prime who saved the planet?” asked another mech who was as confused as Powerline was demanding. 

Three mechs spoke at the same time, and the resulting noise made any kind of resolution impossible. Bots carrying Autobot and Decepticon marks began a quickly escalating exchange of demands, questions and arguments with each other, sharing their own personal versions of what they had been led to believe about the new life of Cybertron, and it threatened to divide them again into two sides. A good amount of Autobots claimed that Megatron was lying, and the Decepticons were starting to question if they had chosen wisely after all when they had not reported back to their Lord. 

“Have order!” Ultra Magnus shouted over the noise and managed to regain the control of the situation even if it was due to the strength of his voice and his size. 

The silence lasted only for a moment, and then Powerline raised his servo. “With all due respect, Ultra Magnus, we deserve the truth.”

“And that you shall have,” spoke a voice from the back of the bridge. 

Helms turned and Ultra Magnus couldn't stop a relieved exvent when he saw that Magenta had finally returned, with Optimus by her side. 

“Well? Is it true then, o' our Prime?” Powerline demanded and earned looks of both impressed and disapproving bots. “Was it really Megatron who resurrected Cybertron and not you even if that's what we've all been led to believe?”

Optimus stepped further into the room as cool and collected as ever without a single hint he was even slightly insulted by Powerline's manners. 

“Me or my team have not spread any false information, and it has never been my intention to let you believe any kind of lies. However I admit with great regret that we have not provided you with precise information about the details of the resurrection of Cybertron,” Optimus said, and everyone absorbed his every word with keen interest. Some looked like they had a lot to say, but no one interrupted the Prime.

“I owe you the truth and that I shall deliver,” Optimus continued. “To address the first question, yes. Yes, it was Megatron and the Decepticons who managed to activate the mythical Omega Lock, a backup system from the time of the Ancients. Back on a distant planet called Earth both us Autobots and Megatron's Decepticons searched for the keys, and finally they were all gathered by the Decepticon Air Commander who then proceeded to give them to Megatron, and thus the lock was activated and our planet lives again. 

“It is also true that our ceasefire is not official. In awe of the new dawn of our home both sides lost the will to fight on in this meaningless war, but nothing official was never agreed upon. I intend to fix that tonight.”

Silence fell once again. Ultra Magnus felt a rush of relief when there were no objections, and despite Megatron's undermining all bots present seemed to still have respect for the Prime. 

“I agree with the Prime,” Infra said with a smile and raised a servo. It was slowly at first, but then some bots joined him, and more and more confidently servos rose in favor of Optimus' plan, ending up with a strong majority. 

Optimus caught Ultra Magnus' gaze across the command bridge. 

_For Cybertron one more time, my old friend,_ Optimus commed to him through a private line. 

_For Cybertron,_ Ultra Magnus agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn I love writing speeches. Megatron's especially, his style is to intense. :'D
> 
> In the next chapter: The final stand~  
> Stay tuned, dear readers!


	7. The Drones of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kudos and comments! It made me so happy when the kudos reached a hundred. :)
> 
> And now, the greatly expected final stand!

The nineteenth cycle of the day drew nearer, Optimus collected Team Prime up once more and together they headed towards the meeting place Megatron had announced. 

The camp was silent when they walked across it, even those who had wished them good luck were now tense and silent. From the corner of his optic Optimus spotted Infra and his two ex-Decepticon friends Glassrain and Ground Zero. All three had come to the team earlier to wish them good luck, all of them full of hope, but now Glassrain and Ground Zero were holding each other like all was lost. It pained Optimus to see them like that after having witnessed their everyday lives, both femmes being lively presences who helped all and everyone around the camp regardless of the mark on the bot's chassis. 

Optimus knew better than to stare into the crowd around him, and soon the pair of Decepticons had slipped out from his visual range, but the two of them were a good reminder of what was at stake here. Every bot here was a Cybertronian, no matter their past or the insignias on their frame, and Optimus was their Prime and thus responsible for their future. If the negotiations went wrong and the hostilities were resumed, Megatron would inflict cruelty on everyone, but firstly he would definitely hunt down every single Decepticon deserter and terminate them. That couldn't be allowed to happen. 

The city of Iacon loomed over the Autobot group and was somehow more ominous than ever before. They were all silent and advanced in a close formation with Optimus leading the way, Ultra Magnus and Ratchet covering his sides while staying slightly behind, then Wheeljack, Arcee and Bulkhead guarding them while keeping one optic at the ruins surrounding them, and lastly Smokescreen and Bumblebee securing their backs. 

The city was a perfect place for an ambush, and they all knew it. There were countless places to hide snipers or weapon stations, or the buildings surrounding them from all directions could be hiding an armada of seekers only waiting for the command to mobilize and bomb them to scrap, and there wouldn't be anywhere to take cover on the open streets. 

_“I don't believe for a single moment that Megatron truly wants peace,”_ Ratchet commed to Optimus. _“If anything, this is a trap and we're walking right into it.”_

 _“We can't ignore him either, old friend,”_ Optimus commed back. _“But I admit to sharing your hunch regardless of how much I wish I was wrong.”_

They didn't have time to discuss anything more before the wide main street of Iacon opened before them. All six lanes were full of bumps and craters, but the scrap had been cleared out, and Optimus recognized the street for what it had been during the days of peace and his past life as Orion Pax. He wondered if Megatron had intended this when choosing the place to meet. 

They drove along the road for several blocks until they arrived at the appointed place. The Decepticons were already there, with the assembly they had said they would gather: In the middle of the road stood Megatron, tall and self-assured and his servos behind his back giving off a false impression of relaxed manner. 

To his right was Soundwave as alert as ever and showing no signs of having had peaceful encounters with them just a moon cycle ago, and to his left stood Starscream, smug yet also appearing nervous, as if he didn't feel entirely comfortable in the current company. Next to Starscream was Knockout who looked more intrigued than anything, and on the left they were accompanied by the looming presence of Shockwave who gave away nothing about his mood. It also seemed that Dreadwing had been replaced, and in his stead there was a bot unknown to the Autobots, a femme who was equally tall and heavy as the missing flyer, armed with large cannons on her flanks and sporting a flashy purple and white paint job. She had most likely arrived among the refugees and re-joined Megatron's forces. 

The Autobots transformed as soon as there was only a block-length of road between them and the Decepticons and continued on pede.

 _“Who's the new-comer?”_ Arcee commend to their team.

 _“I am familiar with her,”_ Ultra Magnus responded with a trace of strain in his tone. _“I have met her on the battlefield more than a few times. Her designation is Crystalrush and she fought in the unit of Decepticons who were often sent to respond to the Wreckers.”_

 _“That's one of theirs?”_ Bulkhead asked. _“You think she's the toughest one they have of them?”_

 _“What? Who are 'them'?”_ Smokescreen asked anxiously. 

_“A group of crazy Cons called the Blue Flame,”_ Wheeljack responded. _“If you run into one of theirs you better abandon all the rules you got if you want to claw your way out of the fight functioning. Funny though, I would have expected the unit leader to show.”_

 _“If Welder had returned to the ranks, it would be reasonable for Megatron to bring her, even if only to taunt us. No, Crystalrush is the best he's got at the moment,”_ Ultra Magnus commed. 

_“I heard of that sadistic glitch. 'Welder'... One of Cybertron's finest indeed,”_ Arcee scoffed. 

_“Yea, she would turn on a blowtorch and melt your faceplate if you let her close enough,”_ Wheeljack said, causing Bumblebee and Smokescreen to swap a disgusted look. 

They didn't have any more time to chat about the Decepticons present before they entered into the social range with them. Optimus stopped and so did his team. Both sides measured the one opposite of them, optics jumping from enemy to enemy. 

But Megatron only had optics for Optimus. A cruel smile twisted his face when he greeted him: “Optimus Prime! How generous of you to answer my call. As you can see I kept my word and brought only my closest officers.”

“Megatron,” Optimus answered coldly. “I stand here only for the sake of Cybertronian people and to fulfill my duties as their Prime. So speak your mind.”

“Ah, always straight to the point, I see,” Megatron chuckled. “Very well then. I am here to discuss and guard the interests of the Decepticons.”

Ratchet snorted loudly. “No one cares about the Decepticons, Megatron! You're all warmongers and criminals. You have no claim over Cybertron!”

“On the contrary, medic,” Megatron said, “my Decepticons make up a considerable portion of Cybertronians and they hail me as their leader. I speak for them all by the right they have given me, and isn't it the duty of a Prime to take all of his people in consideration, not just those he happens to agree with?”

The last sentence was a taunt for Optimus, who had no choice but to take the bait, even if only to address the part that was true. 

“I am here for the people,” he repeated. “And if the Decepticons wish to be considered a part of our society then I will listen. I urge you again, speak, and speak honestly.”

_“Optimus you can't possibly expect him to -”_

“Oh but he can and he will,” Megatron interrupted Ratchet's private comm message, looking all too pleased with himself. 

“What?” he said when gazing at the Autobots' shocked expressions. “Many among our ranks possess great skill and talent,” he chuckled and gestured to Soundwave. “Things like private frequencies can't hold us back forever. Now, if you please, allow me and Prime to continue.”

Megatron received many angry glares from the Autobots, but no one said anything.

“Well, Optimus. Would you like to hear my terms?” the warlord asked, smirking. Optimus kept a neutral expression and stared back like he wanted nothing else than to hear what the other had to say.

“The Decepticons have a great wish to live in peace like so many others now. We wish to build the free society that we set out to fight for in the first place. The current path you are on is, from our point of view, set to lead back to the days of segregation and slavery where this whole thing started,” Megatron said. 

“And what do you have to back up these claims?” Optimus challenged.

Megatron smiled like he was glad he had asked. “I have detected a shortage in my crew, and after investigating the matter found that my free, recruited soldiers have been sent back to the mines we originally freed them from. Official peace hasn't even been made yet and already you Autobots are re-establishing your privileges and casting us back to the mines we climbed out of? That doesn't seem like a valiant thing to do.”

“The vehicons have been working out of their own free will, simply exercising skills they already possess for the general good. Nobody is forced to do anything,” Optimus answered but internally scolded himself for not seeing this coming. 

“Be as it may, that is not the way it looks to us Decepticons,” Megatron argued back. “Our skills are exploited and the new society is being built on our shoulders – just like the one we tore down. We cannot be a part of a society like that, Prime. Or would you deny my trusted officers their rights as free citizens and just put them to use like mindless drones?” Megatron gestured to the bots standing around him, each of them with straight spinal struts and chins lifted up in pride. 

Megatron opened his servos and gestured to his left. “Would you deny Knockout his profession as a doctor because he wasn't born in the right caste? Would you send Crystalrush back to work endless cycles in the waste disposal of dark factories simply because she knows how? Is Starscream useless scrap metal to you because Vos doesn't stand anymore?”

Starscream clearly hadn't expected being included in Megatron's grand vision of new Cybertron and his helm jerked to the side just slightly and a grateful, spark-felt smile ghosted on his faceplate before he caught himself and wiped it away in order to appear cold and stern. 

Megatron turned to his right now. “Would you dismiss Soundwave's skills or would you enslave him like when he was created and put his _skillset to use_ , as you put it? You will forgive us if we don't trust you and the ideals you stand for.”

“To the Pits with your so called values and concerns,” Wheeljack snapped, his servos itching to hold a sword. “You Cons are nothing more than terrorists, criminals and murderers!”

“Wheeljack!” Optimus scolded but the damage was done. 

“Your own soldiers prove my point,” Megatron mused, clearly pleased and hardly bothering to cover it up. 

Wheeljack gritted his dentae and his servos balled into fists. Arcee leaned towards subtly him and laid a calming servo on his elbow, wishing their comm line would have been secure so she could have offered words along with gestures. Thankfully Wheeljack allowed himself to be held back, and the situation stayed under control.

“My soldiers, just like yours, have suffered greatly in the war,” Optimus said. “All my soldiers have met these your trusted ones in battle, and we've all lost close and dear comrades. You have one of the high-ranking officers of the Blue Flame present, and I have three original Wreckers standing with me. Are strong feelings really that surprising? This is what we're building upon: Loss, grief and deep wounds.”

“Always the sentimental one, aren't you?” Megatron chuckled.

“Am I wrong?”

“No, I suppose you are not,” Megatron admitted. “And actually I'm glad you feel that way since it only enforces my point.”

Optimus just stared back at him for a moment. He could feel Ultra Magnus and Ratchet rattle with distaste and anger behind him by just their EM fields they had extended for him to sense. A smart move under their current situation as it allowed Optimus to be somewhat in touch with them, although it didn't provide him with counsel. 

“What do you want, Megatron?” Optimus asked, cutting the chase. Stalling wouldn't get them anywhere. 

“The Decepticons want to be included in the everyday activities and work of their choosing like everyone else. We want to be given official representation and a voice of equal footing in decision making and the right to defend ourselves – personally and legally,” Megatron listed. 

As he spoke the irritation and suspicion in the EM fields of Team Prime increased while Optimus kept his own carefully collected.

_Suspicion, bitterness, anger._

As far as things went superficially, Megatron's propositions made sense, but Optimus had a feeling he wasn't done yet. He was right.

“And on top of those, the Decepticons don't feel that the current leadership is trustworthy or capable providing them with the protection or equality before law that is rightfully theirs. So as the final term, we demand you give up your title as Prime and detach yourself from political and military power. Then there could be a permanent treaty.”

There it was. 

“That is outrageous!” Ratchet declared, almost amused by Megatron's insolence. 

“Is it?” Megatron asked in return. “He has acted as the supreme commander of the Autobots, which has been and officially still is a hostile military force. Additionally he was appointed a Prime in a state of an emergency to respond to and silence a revolution, which has now happened and passed, and the Council that appointed him and granted the title no longer exists. So tell me, what does that make you, Optimus?”

The officers standing aligned with him looked pleased. Soundwave and Shockwave were as featureless as always, but Crystalrush was outright grinning and kept staring at Ultra Magnus like a scraplet would at a piece of freshly molded steel. Knockout was smiling like he knew too much, and Starscream had a familiar greedy look in his optics as if he was trying to figure out just how much the current situation would benefit him. 

“You would snatch away our peace still in its infancy! Does your selfishness know no bounds?!” Ratchet demanded and took a step forward, stopping only at Optimus' extended servo. 

“Technically, from a legal stand-point, he's not wrong,” Ultra Magnus commented with his arms crossed and a thoughtful frown on his face. He had held Crystalrush's hungry stare long enough to acknowledge her, but now ignored her like she was nothing to him but another face in the line. 

“Magnus!” Wheeljack hissed through his dentae and looked at the commander like he had just declared himself a Decepticon. Bulkhead looked slightly hurt but more confused than anything and didn't see fit to say anything with the Cons watching and listening, probably enjoying every single sign of discord. 

Optimus took several slow steps forward and Megatron mirrored his moves, the two leaders advancing to the no-man's-land between the two sides. 

“Majority of your points are reasonable and I would grant them to you gladly as they are necessary for our peace. I also believe there is a sizable part in every bot that's longing for peace, Autobot and Decepticon alike,” Optimus said as he came closer to the warlord who looked at him with a smug smile. There was little space between them when they both stilled. If they would have raised swords, their tips would haver clashed. “But what if I refuse to play along the last whim of yours on the list?” 

“Then the hostilities will continue,” Megatron stated, the dark promise ringing true in his voice. “And I remind you that our numbers are considerable.”

A wave of anger rushed over Optimus and he had to cancel several request from his battle protocols to stop them from turning his servo into a blade. 

“You are holding the entire people hostage so that you could have your way,” he said, voice firm and chilly as ice. 

“Don't lecture me about morals, Prime,” Megatron whispered, his upper lipplate drawing back in a disgusted snarl. “You're as much a warrior as I am.”

“That may be true, but I will not hold a blaster against the spark of our very own people. They are your people too,” Optimus answered with a growl. 

“Yet we find ourselves in this situation, Optimus. Make your call.”

Optimus was quiet and pondered the proposition. He didn't trust Megatron for a nanoklik and sensed there was more to the situation than he let on, but what it was he didn't know and had no means to make even an educated guess. 

It turned out he didn't need to, because Ultra Magnus spoke up again: “And what if Optimus gives up the title of Prime? Then what?”

Megatron didn't look away from Optimus when the second-in-command spoke, and didn't drop the unblinking optic contact even when he answered: “He would give up the Matrix of Leadership, and as soon as possible a new Prime would be elected by the people.”

Everyone present made small calculations and quickly arrived to the conclusion which Megatron had voiced earlier: Decepticons made up a considerable portion of Cybertronians.

“This is just another scheme for you to end up in power!” Ratchet snapped, clenching his servo. 

“What's the matter? Opposed to a little democracy?” Megatron chuckled and his officers sniggered with amusement. 

Optimus gave a stressed exvent through his vents and narrowed his optics at Megatron, whose grin spread as he watched the situation unfold. 

“You cannot be allowed power over our people, ever,” Optimus said. “You can demand it all you want, but no matter what the future brings about, I am still Prime and I will honor that title and protect the fragile future of my people, and it won't be done by catering to your ego!”

Megatron's dentae were still bared but gone were any traces of amusement, leaving only resentment and disgust. His optics glowed as icy as Optimus', then slowly and while shaking his helm he raised his right servo. “Always one for the hard way, aren't you? But if this is how it must be, then I accept.”

With a sharp shuffling sound of metal plates rearranging a thick two-edged sword manifested itself out of Megatron's arm, and without wasting a klik the warlord directed a straight blow right toward Optimus' spark chamber. Optimus reacted quickly and dodged the attack while allowing his battle protocols' request for activating his own weapons, and a klik later he brought up a sword of his own to respond to Megatron's attack. 

They locked blades and unlocked them just as fast, each lunging backwards towards the spectators. The Autobots were all frozen in place and waiting for a command but their weapons were activated just as were the Decepticons'. 

“Stand down, Autobots!” Optimus shouted over his shoulder and turned back to the enemy line: “Decepticons! Don't fire at us and we shall not harm you!”

“Bah! Ridiculous!” spat Crystalrush who already had a plasma cannon aimed and activated, a bright pink charge building up and ready to wreck havoc. 

“NO! Stand down!” roared Megatron and made Crystalrush freeze in place. She threw a bewildered look at the warlord, but her cannon was already powering down and Megatron had no interest in her questions as long as she obeyed. 

“Starscream!” he snapped and the seeker responded with a startled flutter of his wings. “Mobilize the air forces! NOW!”

Starscream stood still and his optics jumped frantically between Megatron and Optimus like he was having a horrendous inner battle between Optimus' promises of peace and equality and Megatron's vision of Decepticon rule and no-doubt high positions for his trusted officers. 

“Megatron! Your enemy is here and here alone!” Optimus yelled and charged with his blades held up. 

Megatron had just enough time to give Starscream a murderous glare before he charged and met Optimus with a screeching noise of colliding blades. The swords slid against each other, the contact was lost and Optimus and Megatron slammed into each other with their shoulders. They stepped back and advanced again, Optimus throwing up a kick and Megatron having to give up his punch to receive and direct it past his helm. 

Autobots took a formation of an equal line now that they knew their enemy was right in front of them instead of behind their backs. They kept their blasters activated but pointing either to the ground or upwards, avoiding agitating the Decepticon officers who were also spreading their ranks and readying weapons, trying to gain clear shots around their fighting leaders. 

Knockout stepped closer to Starscream who was flexing his talons nervously. “Good call there, Commander,” he mumbled. 

“No, you don't understand,” Starscream answered anxiously. “I tried to reach my troops just before Prime attacked, but no one responded!”

Knockout looked thoroughly puzzled.

The Prime and the warlord had optics only for each other as they struck and slashed and clawed and kicked while dancing around each other. They were a very close match in force and skill, and the struggle was frighteningly equal. Every moment it looked like like one was about to gain the upper hand, and right on the next the scale tipped again, making the spectacle nerve-wrecking to watch. 

“Somehow we always end up like this, Optimus,” Megatron hissed to the Prime's face when he tried to leverage his blade free of their lock and stab it into his enemy's spark. 

“So it seems,” Optimus agreed and brought his knee up in a sharp strike to the bottom of Megatron's chassis, sending him stumbling back. 

A thick shower of plasma fire rained down from the sky. It tore into the street and raised a thick cloud of rubble and dust, and burned a clear line between Optimus and Megatron, efficiently separating them. The dust in the air forced them to take a step back and rethink their strategy. 

“Starscream! Order your flyers to watch their aim!” Megatron snapped over his shoulder. 

“My Lord, it's not us!” responded the confused Commander from somewhere inside the dust cloud. 

“What - “ 

A new voice rang out on the street from above: “Cease fighting and stand down! I repeat, cease fighting!”

All helms turned upwards to seek out the interrupter. A quick look up to the buildings lining the streets made every single bot go absolutely still. There were dozens of bright lights in the settling dust cloud, each one of them being a ready barrel of a cannon aimed down at them. They were trapped on the street, right in the crosshairs of dozens of unknown weapons. 

“We have you surrounded! Power down all your weapons and raise up your servos so we can see them!” roared the same voice, and as the dark curtain of smoke and dust settled the speaker was revealed. She was a smooth-lined blue grounder holding no weapon of her own, but standing on the edge of a torn-open building. It was clear in the way her left arm was up that she was in command of the shooters on both sides of the street. 

“None shall be harmed! This is a peaceful intervention! Stand down and surrender and no one shall be harmed!” she yelled and seeing she had everyone's undivided attention, continued: “I am Captain Override, and by the authority of the Red Star Colony and in the name of peaceful Cybertron, I order you to stand down and surrender!”

No one moved an inch on the street, everyone staring up with wide optics. Even Optimus and Megatron were caught off-guard and were still processing the new turn of events. 

“I suppose that explains the fate of your troops,” Knockout slipped from the corner of his mouth to Starscream who could only weakly nod in response. 

Then Megatron regained his senses and in a klik had his fusion cannon ready and pointed up. 

“I don't recognize your authority!” he declared. “And if you want a battle, that you shall have!”

“We don't seek battle!” Captain Override responded. “And this is not my authority I'm wielding, I am here as our Council has me ordered, and with that authority I command you: Power down your weapons and surrender! All of you! You will all be guaranteed a fair treatment and later this matter will be handled before a legal and unbiased court of law!”

The Autobots traded looks with each other. 

_“Wait... We're all under arrest?”_ Smokescreen asked via comm.

 _“Seems so. Great...”_ Arcee sighed.

 _“It is only logical,”_ interrupted a strange signal in their comm and they all jumped a little. They hadn't forgotten that the line was hacked, but a Con joining the conversation was a surprise. 

_“They cannot choose a side if they indeed want peace. Logically the interrupting party should seize all those who engage in the battle,”_ Shockwave continued. 

_“Uh... Optimus?”_ Ratchet commed. _“What should we do?”_

 _“We follow you, sir,”_ Ultra Magnus said.

 _“That's Override up there,”_ Wheeljack commented, a bit stunned but clearly pleased. _“I trust her. We should do as she says.”_

 _“Gotta say I agree too,”_ chuckled Knockout.

 _“Tell that to Lord Megatron,”_ Starscream dryly added.

 _“Okay, enough is enough! Cons, get off this line!”_ Smokescreen insisted and was backed up by Bumblebee. 

“Autobots!” Optimus shouted out loud and everyone's attention snapped to him. “Do as Captain Override ordered and surrender!”

He disengaged his battle protocols and the blades transformed back into servos, and the other Autobots followed his example. Optimus turned to the Decepticons who were all in between decisions, each one sporting a mixture of confusion and their own brand of hesitation.

“If you truly want the war to end, if you are truly ready to commit to peace once again, then follow my example and surrender,” Optimus said to them. 

Megatron looked deeply insulted at how Optimus spoke to his subordinates past him and turned to order them: “Don't you dare betray the cause now! Ready your weapons and prepare for battle! Reach out to your troops and order them to - “

He didn't get any further before a tactically aimed electrical impulse was directed to the back of his neck, flooding his neural net and knocking it in emergency shut down. Megatron's optics offlined, and for a moment he swayed on his place until his frame tipped enough off balance and crashed down to the ground. 

Soundwave retrieved his tentacle limb and neatly folded it back in its housing. It was hard to say which side stared at him with greater disbelief but he paid them no mind. His vocalizer rattled with white noise when it was onlined, and the expressionless visor turned to Starscream.

Soundwave's mechanical voice pushed through his imperfect filters and requested: “Commander Starscream, orders, please.” 

Starscream was confused for a moment before he remembered he was the second in command and with Megatron unconscious it was his job to issue orders. For a moment he stared back at Soundwave like he had just seen him for the first time, but then rebooted his vocalizer and with trembling legs turned himself toward the building where Override was standing.

“Decepticons!” Starscream called, loud and clear. “Lower your weapons and surrender!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, this is awkward. Someone will have some explaining to do later~
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. If you liked this, leave kudos and maybe share some of thoughts in the comments. I will get down to answer them when I have the time.


	8. Prison blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been some time since my last update. Sorry about that! I hope you haven't completely lost hope and interest in this fic.  
> I am glad to bring this chapter to you now, and I hope you enjoy it. This one advances the plot too, so I hope your wait hasn't been for nothing.

A very unexpected group of bots was demanding an audience with the commanders of the Red Star: Visibly anxious Infra, uncharacteristically angry and straight-backed Magenta, Powerline and a vehicon commander Collision. 

The Red Star – or the Red Star Colony as the bots aboard called it – had arrived early during the evening cycles and landed on the fields of Iacon, a short distance away from the refugee camp due to the warship's massive size. 

The Red Star Colony was a combination of the warship and several smaller shuttles and ships in its wake. The Red Star was one of the biggest ships ever made on Cybertron, heavily armed and dwarfing even sizable space stations, and carried a crew easily counting up to tens of thousands plus the passengers. It had thirty-five cabin decks for the crew, ten battle decks of which the top four were for the command, and in the belly side large hangar decks and cargo bays plus the machinery and engine rooms that took up five decks of space with their energon processors, power reactors and warp engine chambers. The other ships that were part of the colony were small only when compared to the mothership.

If the Decepticons had dominated the population in numbers until now, the arrival of the Red Star Colony had tipped the scale permanently. The Colony was inhabited entirely by neutral bots, and the number of the ones living aboard the Red Star together with the joined fleets was as high as 200 000. 

When they had arrived, Infra and Magenta had been welcoming them but the giant war ship, with the smaller shuttles swarming around it had held everybody's attention. The first bots to emerge from the Red Star were a small group that proclaimed themselves as the highest ranking officers aboard, the Captain and her five commanding officers, and they had provided them with a compact package of information about who they were and the declaration of the independent colony. 

In return Magenta and Infra had told them about the situation on Cybertron, about the Prime and the warlord, the leader of the Decepticons Megatron, who were having a meeting right now to negotiate about peace. 

Captain Override had barely received the news before she was already barking out orders and gathering a response team in order to interrupt the meeting, and there was nothing a group of unarmed refugees could do to stop them. Both Magenta and Infra had felt a bit wounded by the manner they were so casually dismissed while the soldiers ran towards the smell of energon begging to be spilled. 

The situation had only escalated from there when the team had returned with not only the Decepticon high command but Optimus Prime and his team as prisoners, and without any explanations dragged them aboard the Red Star. 

Mayhem threatened to break loose in the camp after that. Optimus Prime had seemed unharmed when he had walked after Captain Override with his servos behind his helm, but the arrest of the Prime would have been an insult to them all in itself even without the undignified manner he was walked with a cannon aimed at his back. 

There had been no information from the Red Star after the doors clamped shut, no reason given nor any message from the Prime or his team, and as anger arose and the confused and insulted bots demanded something to be done about it, Magenta had stood up using her great height and strong voice and started to lead the conversation even though the attention and responsibility were unpleasant to her. Infra had quickly risen beside her to offer any aid he could. 

Some order was achieved and the meeting of the whole camp was allowed to continue, and it did so all the way until the daybreak. What had gone down was the most immediate question people wanted answered. Why was the Prime held captive? On what grounds the bots of the Red Star based their authority and right to intervene in things like this? Some even doubted the whole ordeal could be a Decepticon plot and that a new war would break out soon. 

Nothing could be answered then and there, so a team to go and calmly demand answer was assembled according to one vehicon's suggestion. It was their way of operating and it had worked so far, and the proposition was received well. Infra and Magenta were natural choices for the group as they were as close to Team Prime as one could be without actually being a member, and they had taken the hold of things well, but Powerline was voted in because of his reputation as a real loyal Autobot and a good warrior, and Collision in turn was voted in by the Decepticon foot soldiers and his close relations to the officers convinced even the now neutral Decepticon refugees of his capabilities. The group was sent on their way the first thing in the morning. 

To their surprise they were let in easily and even received apologizes from the crew member who acted as their guide. They were assured no disrespect was intended and that no big decisions would be made in the dark.

They were led into an elevator and the crew member leading the way tapped in the number of the second command deck. The front of the elevator was open and they got a brief glance at the cabin decks as they went by. It was clear that the Red Star hadn't been first and foremost a military vessel in some time. The decks were littered by direction signs and instruction tables. Many signs of civilian life were present such as personalized door frames, and several decks had been transformed into promenades for small businesses and public places. 

The military side of the ship resurfaced again when they arrived on the command deck two and the elevator stopped there and the party stepped out. Here the dominating features were the minimal lighting in order to save energon and function-orientated bare order of things, the whole atmosphere giving them a glimpse of what the ship had probably been like a long time ago. 

They were led to the end of the main corridor, then to the left and all the way to the other side of the deck until they came to double doors. Their guide stopped and pressed a door buzz. Almost immediately the doors shuffled open, the guide gestured for the group to step in, and they obeyed the suggestion. 

Behind the doors was a conference room with a round metal table in the middle and hard chairs of the same material around it. The floor was covered in synthetic mesh that was soft on the bottom of the pedes. The left wall had screens and computer consoles on it, the back wall had a line of small round windows from which you could see the slowly paling sky and the ruins of a city, and there stood Captain Override with her back to the windows and clearly waiting for them. 

“Greetings. All your worries and questions will be answered,” she said and gave them a kind smile, gesturing them to sit down around the table. 

Magenta, Infra and Powerline exchanged glances but sat down anyway. Collision didn't hesitate but pulled a chair right away when the permission was given. Override waited until they were all sitting down before pulling a chair of her own and taking a seat opposite of them. She swung one leg over her knee and laid her servos on the table, interlacing her digits. 

“My name is Override,” she began. “I am the Captain of this vessel like I was when we first departed from Cybertron, and I am instructed to give you all the information you want and fill in the details if you don't know what to ask.”

“Well, good,” Powerline said with an openly suspicious voice, “because we sure have a lot of questions for you people.”

Magenta took the wheel there and continued in a much calmer manner: “Firstly, how is our Prime?”

“Optimus Prime is fine and unharmed, but under arrest, like are all the other parties involved in the latest conflict,” Override answered. 

“Arrested on what grounds?” Infra asked with a frown. That had been the most pressing question on everyone's mind since last night, and no matter how much he had tried, he hadn't been able to come up with anything sensible.

Override parted her lipplates, but hesitated for a nanoklik like she knew she was trying to explain away something not so easily buried. “He is held under the same premises as everyone else of the prisoners: As a suspect for war crimes,” she finally said.

“That is ridiculous!” Powerline huffed with a mixture of upset and confusion.

“Everyone is innocent until the court rules otherwise,” Override assured him with a well-practiced diplomatic tone.

“What court? We don't have the Department of Justice or any kind of a justice system re-established yet!” Magenta argued back. “Me and Ultra Magnus, the second-in-command of the Team Prime, have been trying to put old data files in order, but much has been lost, and it's not like we could have revived the Grid or the old network in this time!”

“As much as we appreciate your efforts, and I can assure you that you shall receive thanks for them later, you are not entirely correct,” Override answered. “The Red Star Colony is a Cybertronian Colony and it is made up of Cybertronian citizens. We have lived in peace for the past ten thousand stellar cycles and we do have a justice system. Granted, there have been some changes to it but it is based on the old Cybertronian system we had before the war.”

The new information left them stunned and in silence for a long time, mostly for the casual mention of the peace the people of the colony had had for so long. Especially Collision, who had been a front-line soldier until the very end, suddenly felt like he would burst with envy of such luxuries like everyday life and not fearing deactivation every cycle of his existence. 

“You've had peace? All this time while we've been fighting?” Collision asked with a thin, bland voice. 

Override's gaze wasn't far from apologetic when she nodded her helm once. “Yes. The Red Star and her fleet fought with a Decepticon fleet all the way to a far-away solar system where we got caught up in an ion storm that left all our vessels somewhat damaged, some completely disabled. We initiated a ceasefire in order to abandon useless vessels and save as much of the crews as we could. When the Autobot side started to run low on energon, the Decepticon scavengers offered to share in exchange of using our hangar decks to repair their vessels. I was, as I am now, the commanding officer of this vessel and I led the negotiations with the Decepticon commander, and after long stellar cycles we managed to reach an agreement that has been strengthened through the thousands of stellar cycles after that.”

More silence followed, but Override didn't turn away from anyone's inspecting or evaluating stare. 

“So... What happens now?” Magenta asked calmly. “What are you planning to do?”

Override turned to her and raised a fine optic ridge. “Do you mean the Red Star Colony or me specifically?”

Infra tilted his helm. “What's the difference, if I may ask, Captain?”

“You may,” Override answered and paused to weigh her next words carefully. “The difference is that I am merely a Captain of this vessel. It is not the only power and it is not the highest power. I am acting under orders right now, just as I was yesterday when I arrested Optimus Prime, Megatron and their officers.”

This was new information and it came as a complete surprise to all guests present. None of them was used to authority that overrode the military one, and really, why would they be? All of them had their memory drives filled with rogue war for the past hundreds of thousands of stellar cycles, and the memories of the peaceful Cybertron needed to be searched for to be examined.

That, and the fact that those weren't altogether pleasant memories: Magenta and Infra were both of former working castes with some education under their belt, but Powerline and Collision shared a past of low status and simple work. Collision might have liked the peace and calm for a change now, but he could never forget that it had been Megatron and the Decepticons who raised him from the mines to see the sun for the first time, and he would rather be plummeted back into war than go back in the dark again. 

“Well what do your other masters plan to do?” Collision asked. 

“We plan to establish our presence and share all the things and resources we have,” Override responded with a smile. “We have a lot of technology aboard and we're planning to tear away pretty much everything that can be useful and start rebuilding our planet.”

“That's good and all, but what about Prime and his team?” Powerline asked impatiently.

“And Lord Megatron and the officers,” Collision added.

“They will be held prisoner aboard the Red Star until the court is ready to handle this business,” Override told. “It might be after some time, but I can assure you that while they're held here they will all be treated fairly. We also need time to integrate with the other refugee population and give them a chance to affect the decisions made.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Infra said and smiled to his left and right. Magenta and Powerline gave hesitant nods, but Collision narrowed his optics behind his visor. 

“One question until we're done here,” Magenta said out of the blue, gaining the attention of everyone. “You said there was someone of a higher authority than you aboard. I understand the reasoning that during the peace time the military might lose its importance, but I can't imagine it would give up the position either, not just like that without any strong reason. So who holds the highest power?”

The question was indeed very interesting. The three others of the visitor group had been so preoccupied with the situation and safety of the Prime and his soldiers and – in Collision's case – the interest of the Decepticons, that they had overlooked the power-structures of the Colony. 

The time Magenta had spent with Ultra Magnus was apparently starting to pay off.

Override gave a smile that might have been a tad bit strained but still professional. 

“We have a member of the old High Council aboard.”

*

On the cabin deck thirty-five there was a vacant hallway where several small cabins were emptied and turned into holding cells. They had the locking systems installed only outside and the majority of the furniture were removed, leaving only berths and wash-racks. 

There wasn't enough cabins for all the prisoners immediately, so some of them were paired up. Ratchet with Ultra Magnus, Wheeljack with Soundwave, Starscream with Knockout and the terrified Smokescreen with Shockwave, leaving Crystalrush, Arcee and Bulkhead in cabins of their own. Optimus Prime and Megatron were taken down to another corridor and locked up together as well. 

The arrangements were less than ideal but only temporary in nature. That was what the soldiers left guarding them assured them while suspiciously eyeing Wheeljack who looked like he was just waiting for a chance to turn Soundwave's helm backwards. 

Starscream was less than happy about being cramped inside for Primus knew how long, and too agitated to even be glad he got paired up with Knockout, the least horrible option out of all possibilities. 

Starscream kept turning the events of the day over in his mind while pacing and tried his hardest to fully grasp what had happened – what he had done. 

The war was over. It was over, all over. No more fighting, no more missions, no more energon hoarding, no more anything. 

It was difficult to comprehend. The war had gone on for eons and now that is wasn't doing so anymore, Starscream didn't know what he was supposed to feel. What would he do now? His life was serving Megatron, being a Decepticon and fighting. The crippling fear of deactivation would be a thing of the past now, but somehow that wasn't a joyous thought like it should have been. Starscream didn't know if he was already missing the thrill of survival protocols onlining and firing up his processor, or if he was just in shock. 

Knockout took things in a much calmer manner. He strode into the cabin, stretched his joints and hopped to sit on a berth like it was a particularly cozy hotel room and not a prison cell. 

His cell-mate's agitated and dramatic rambling and pacing was somewhat amusing and very much like Starscream, so Knockout was used to this kind of behavior and paid it little mind. He also suspected they were about to spend some time together from now on and so it was best for them both to avoid needless confrontation, but after watching the seeker's aimless trotting for a good while he decided to speak his mind: “You know... For what it's worth, I think you did a good thing today, Starscream.”

Starscream stopped like he had hit a wall and spun around to look at the other bot. “A good thing?” he repeated with a thin voice nearing panic.

Knockout nodded. “Yeah. Because of you we have a shot at peace now. You already know I wouldn't want to go and risk my paint getting ruined ever again if I can help it.”

“Good? _Good?_ ” Starscream sputtered and a burst of nervous chirping laughter escaped his intake. “What did I do?! I – I – I had the command and I ordered surrender! That blasted Soundwave put me on the spot!”

“...I'm not sure I follow,” Knockout said while tapping the side of his faceplate with a tip of one long digit. 

Starscream let out a frustrated whine and his wings drooped down. “Can't you _see_? Soundwave used me to make the decision Megatron would never make!”

Knockout nodded with his optics narrowed. “Yes? A sensible decision that didn't get us blasted into teeny tiny pieces right there. What lags in that?”

“Does it matter that we're online here?” Starscream groaned. “We're going to be terminated anyway! We will be executed as war criminals for a long list of things we've done over the past millennia and then some! And if by some miracle of Primus they won't deactivate me, Megatron will surely find me and make me wish they had!”

Knockout fluttered his optics and gazed upward while pondering on the matter. The seeker made a fair point, he had to admit that much, but no matter what he wouldn't say that out loud. “I think you greatly overestimate Lord Megatron,” he said instead. “With the war being over he can't just go around and tear bots apart.”

Starscream gave an involuntary shiver and resumed his pacing. “Oh but he can. He'll find a way, I know he will. You don't know him like I do, doctor. If I won't have my spark extinguished on a public execution stage, he will see that it will happen, one way or another, I just know it. I know.”

“Well... Let's take comfort in the fact that public execution assures we'll go out with applauds. The only downside of that is that I'm sure I will not be allowed to buff before and look my best when I go,” Knockout reflected with a cheery tone and a smile on his face.

Starscream stopped again and stared at the medic like he had completely glitched. Knockout smiled innocently back at him, the smile only widening the harder Starscream tried to make his expression look judgmental.

“Is that really what's on your mind now?” Starscream asked. “On a moment like this?”

Knockout spread his arms and the grin broke free. “When you're as handsome a mech as I am, how could I not think that?”

Starscream shook his helm and covered his optics with his talons, clearly wishing he had been locked up with someone else instead, be they Autobot or Decepticon. Anyone would be more sane than Knockout. 

Said mech was incredibly pleased with himself and couldn't keep the grin off his face and stopped even trying, choosing to simply beam at the other. 

Starscream finally gave up their staring contest and rolled his optics. Some of the previous strain left his shoulders and he looked slightly less rigid, even if still very distressed. 

Knockout shifted, made room on the padding and patted the berth besides him. “Why don't you sit down, Herr Kommandant?”

Starscream gave him a flat, irritated look. He took a look around the cabin and found there was nothing else to sit down on, and if he wished to rest it was either the berth or the floor, and he would rather dive in to the Pit than sit on the floor and look up to Knockout. Reluctantly he walked to the berth and sat down on it, but made sure he put plenty of distance between himself and the medic. 

Knockout had nothing to complain about. For a moment he was just happy that Starscream was there sitting beside him and paid no mind to the displeasure the other was radiating. 

“So...” Starscream started, then paused to reboot his vocalizer. “What do you think they will do to the Autobots?”

Knockout tilted his helm and huffed. “Who knows? They are the better half of this conflict and they have the Prime... But I have a feeling these bots have lived a different enough life to pay little mind to that.”

“Hm. Let's hope so. I've always said that if I have to take a plummet downwards I want to drag at least a few enemies down with me,” Starscream said but without any real malice, like he was just casually chatting. Knockout turned his helm to steal a quick look of his faceplate in order to see it without spiteful expression and found it carefully blank, optics unfocused and dim. 

“I think the more interesting question is how they plan to put limits to the group of the Decepticons they'll have punished,” the medic said. “They would have to snuff dozens just to get all the officers. At least Collision has been making friends in the camp, so it would be politically unwise to snuff him, and if they make one exception there will be more...”

Starscream's helm perked up. “Who's Collision?”

“One of the vehicon sergeants. We're acquainted.” 

“Oh.” Starscream hadn’t ever bothered to get to know the troops. Their standard frames made them all look alike, and Starscream had found it best to just treat them all the same to avoid awkward situations of mistaken identities. 

Another thought came to mind, one of such importance he wondered how he hadn't thought of it before. He spoke it out loud: “Hey, do you think they will be hunting Dreadwing down?”

Knockout stilled for a klik and then offlined his optics with a groan. “Oh frag, I had forgotten about him already...”

“Technically he's not a Decepticon anymore but a neutral deserter, so...”

Knockout kept nodding his helm with his optics offline and a pained envious frown on his faceplate. They were clearly thinking alike, and Starscream's mood grew sour too. 

“That glitchy boom-happy fanatic picked a good time to drop out of the gang,” Knockout bitterly scoffed.

“Indeed...”

“Frag him,” Knockout spat.

“Frag him,” Starscream agreed. 

*  
_  
-tron._

_-gatron._

White noise and errors in reboot protocols were being sorted out by systems which were slowly rebooting again and again, trying to clear the protocols and run smoothly. Handling of sensory information was still bugging. 

_Megatron._

The voice print was familiar but a match wasn't found yet. It wasn't a priority with so many more vital protocols needing a reboot, but the voice print referred to a very important and active memory file and steadily it moved up the priority queue. 

_Megatron._

Megatron's systems came up with 100% functionality. A distant burn in his spinal strut and the neural net around it told of an electric pulse that had knocked him into a temporal offline state. 

He had a lot of experience with tactical injuries and knew not to rush himself, so he didn't online his optical receptors right away but stayed still and took in the situation. He was inside and in some sort of a room, and there was one other bot aside from him. He was also bound with stasis cuffs and good old-fashioned chains around his arms and chassis, his fusion cannon and other weapons systems rendered useless. 

“Megatron. Are you online?”

It was Optimus Prime's voice and Megatron finally looked up, expecting to see his captor. The room was a storage of some kind, so hinted the white metal shelves that covered each wall, but it was also completely empty. 

“Prime,” Megatron growled. “Is this how you operate now? Electrocuting your enemies in the back? You have - “ His sentence was cut short when he saw Optimus against the opposite wall. The Prime wasn't completely strapped to it like he was, but he was in cuffs as well with his firearms disabled and a few rounds of the same chain Megatron was bound with tied him to the wall. 

Optimus looked at him with raised optic ridges, the chilling blue of his optics with a knowing glow in them. “You need to reconsider the situation, Megatron,” he said with a smallest hint of dry amusement. “We are both held prisoner, and not by either side we fought for.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “Override,” he grumbled, then let out a mocking laugh. “She would dare to imprison her Prime? I thought she was one of your soldiers.”

“Indeed she was, one of the best,” Optimus admitted. “But she is not an Autobot any longer. No one is, like no one is a Decepticon either. The war has ended.”

Megatron was quiet and inspected Optimus with a hard yet dispassionate gaze. The warlord was thinking rapidly, searching for lies and trickery while coming up with alternate theories and explanations for the situation. Optimus let him do so for a cycle or two before he exvented tediously and retracted his battle mask in order to offer a small smile. 

Megatron was so used to the Prime sheltering the lower half of his faceplate that he hadn't even noticed it until now. He didn't know what to make of the smile however, so he looked away. 

“Quite a lot happened during the time you were offline,” Optimus said. “Would you like me to tell you?”

“And how can you guarantee to me you're telling the truth?” Megatron challenged and answered the smile with a snarl. 

“I can only give you my word. Well, that and the fact that I am here with you in the same situation,” came the Prime's answer. It didn't hold much hard evidence except the fact that it wasn't in his nature to pull off complicated deceptive plots or acts, and Megatron seemed to come in a similar conclusion and was willing to bet on that. He nodded. 

“Firstly, the war ended,” Optimus said again. “It looks like the Red Star and several smaller fleets ended up solving their differences and achieving peace when their communications with other Cybertronians were severed and they found themselves forced to share resources. I suppose, in their opinion, we're all equally guilty for this conflict lasting this long.”

“Well, well... That is an interesting point of view,” Megatron chuckled. “It looks like your reputation as the Prime who unites the people isn't very relevant anymore.”

Optimus didn't let that get to him but his smile got a hint of sadness in it. “I have never deluded myself so that I would have thought I brought our people together. Cybertron was already divided when I became a Prime and it hasn't gotten any better since then. If this is our chance, I will gladly bear what ever punishment they have in store for me.”

The warlord rolled his optics and gave a dismissive scoff though his gritted dentae. He had always hated Optimus' passiveness and self-sacrificial attitude. “You and your martyr complex,” he spat. “And what about my soldiers? Your team? What about them?”

Now Optimus showed the first sign of actual worry, even if it was just a minimal strain in his shoulders. “They were all taken in with us and locked in cabins. They all came peacefully after we surrendered. And by the Allspark, I will hope for their fates to be merciful even if mine is not.”

“And who led the Decepticons to this shameful fall if I may ask?” Megatron asked, waving the Prime's worries aside.

“Starscream did.”

“Well of course! I should have known!” Megatron snapped and slammed his elbows into the wall behind him, rattling the chains and making them groan under his strength. “Do tell, Optimus, if it was that little scheming winged traitor who electrocuted me when I wasn't looking?”

Hesitation took over Optimus' expression and he looked suddenly a bit awkward like he had when he was a young and clumsy archivist. The ghost of the past was banished when he spoke: “No, it wasn't Starscream. The bot who struck you down was Soundwave.”

“You lie,” Megatron hissed.

Optimus looked calmly back at him with that same annoyingly compassionate smile still on his face. “No, I do not,” he assured. “Soundwave used one of his feelers to give you a strong enough pulse of electricity to crash your systems. Then he gave the command to Starscream who ordered the Decepticons to surrender.”

If Megatron felt the acidic tingling of betrayal in the back of his intake he covered it up well, but Optimus saw from his rigid posture and absolute stillness he wasn't entirely unaffected either. The reason was good, of course. The loyal Soundwave was the one mech Megatron had allowed himself to count on since Cybertron, and now even he had left him. 

“It is over, Megatron,” Optimus said firmly. “There's nothing left to do anymore. No one left to fight and no one left to fight alongside with. Just accept it, be calm, and wait for the trial.” 

Megatron stared at the Prime with a gaze cold and hard like steel and his expression as unforgiving. 

“Then they'd better to terminate me,” he said. “I will not have it any other way. My revolution, my cause cannot be wiped out unless you extinguish my spark as well.”

Optimus frowned at him with distaste and Megatron found more pleasure and comfort in that small show of resentment than in all kind words and smiles put together. 

“You don't need to be so eager,” Optimus remarked. “And I have a strong hunch that your wish won't be ignored.”

“I sincerely hope that includes both of us,” Megatron answered. 

Optimus' optics were impassive when he eyed him. “I suppose it will, actually. Prime or not, I carry the weight of the war on my shoulders.”

“I always knew we were meant to deactivate together,” Megatron chuckled with a grim smirk. 

“Maybe so, but wouldn't you prefer it was my blade that extinguished your spark as the one to extinguish mine would be yours?”

“That I have dreamed of, yes,” Megatron admitted, a dark longing looming over the words.

The doors shuffled open and four guards stepped in, interrupting their conversation but not completely dissolving the gloomy atmosphere between them. Both imprisoned mechs turned their helms to the door and watched the guards form pairs and giving way for the important guest visiting them, who turned out to be a familiar face. 

Optimus' optics widened in surprise at the same time as Megatron's were lit up with a flame of pure hatred. 

“Well, well! It looks like things will finally come around and justice will happen,” mused Ratbat with a wide pleased smile as his gaze jumped between the two prisoners. “Quite long you were allowed to run rampant, destroying and terminating. I have only one question: do you remember me?”

Megatron's pride kept him silent but his expression of utter resentment and disgust spoke for itself. Optimus blinked and did a double take on the mech. 

“I do recall you, Ratbat,” he said. “You were a member of the High Council before the war broke out and it fell. Do tell, are there other survivals? Do others still function?”

Ratbat gave a sarcastic smile and scoffed. “Oh, no. I am the only one left. Maybe against the odds and expectations but none the less, here I am. The weight and responsibilities of the High Council are entirely trusted upon me now, good Orion Pax.”

Megatron wasn't able to keep his opinion to himself anymore. “Is that how you address your Prime, bureaucrat? His name is Optimus Prime and every single bot from the simple warriors to the Decepticon high command calls him that!”

Ratbat turned his clearly amused face toward Megatron who sat in his chains with the ego of an emperor. “Well greetings to you too, gladiator of Kaon. Or, well... I guess it's just a gladiator now that Kaon doesn't exist anymore,” he said with a voice seeping irony. “You really were allowed to have your tantrum for quite some time. Well kick now all you like, it will end very soon. You shall answer for your crimes before the High Council like you should have done long ago.”

“The Council fell,” Megatron said with a pleased edge. “My Decepticons saw it through and there is no way you will be able to assemble that instrument of caste and oppression ever again, not with the people of Cybertron having so large a portion of former Decepticons.”

Ratbat made a disgusted face. “Yes, well. The workers shall be dealt with. Don't forget that the people of the Red Star Colony are a even larger portion and we have lived in a civilized manner all this time you -” he pointed at them both, “ - ran around having your little... Disagreement.”

Optimus frowned and straightened his spinal strut. He was considerably less tightly bound than Megatron, and it made a noticeable distinction to his former position. “Council member Ratbat,” he began with a steely voice, “this 'disagreement', as you put it, is a war that has gone on for the past hundred thousand stellar cycles. Many sparks were lost, good mechs and brave femmes of Cybertron and some unfortunate bystanders of foreign worlds we happened upon. It shows great disrespect for their memories to belittle this conflict.”

“Oh well, I suppose you are right,” Ratbat said without sounding like he meant it. 

“And will our officers face the same justice?” Optimus asked, paying no mind to Ratbat's taunting. 

A smile flared up on the council member's faceplate. “We'll see about that.”

“Captain Override gave her word,” Optimus pressed on. “Fair justice for all was the term of our surrender.”

“Yes, she did that, didn't she,” Ratbat muttered and rolled his optics. “But the Captain's authority doesn't exceed mine. On civilian matters my word is the final one, so it says on the law. Let me read some to you. Commander!” He turned his helm to the corridor and called for someone there. Apparently for someone of a respected military status, because as the call went the four guards stood in sharp attention. 

A tall, heavy-built industrial seeker stepped into the room. She was bulky and dented, bearing a collection of battle scars like medals of honor on her rust brown and black frame, and on her faceplate she had a grim, sour expression as she strode toward Ratbat and handed him a datapad. 

Ratbat took the pad and started to idly tap on it. The commander stood in attention like her troops, deliberately staring past the short mech and focusing on a fixed spot on a wall. 

“This is Commander Stormsplitter,” Ratbat said and gestured at the seeker while still mainly concentrating on the datapad. “I believe you are familiar with her.”

Optimus knew Stormsplitter only by her reputation and so didn't react to her presence, but Megatron's servos balled into fists. 

“Stormsplitter,” he said with a silky smooth voice. “How interesting to run into you here. I see you are well.”

The seeker turned her helm toward Megatron and met his optics with her own, but followed the official protocol in the situation and didn't say anything. 

Ratbat lifted his gaze and faked surprise. “Oh, yes, that's right! You used to be a Decepticon Commander of a rather special standing, didn't you, Commander?”

Optimus could barely keep himself from rolling his optics at the melodramatic display unfolding before him. He was now entirely sure Ratbat had no intentions what so ever to present them with a relevant law section, but was simply amusing himself by dangling one of Megatron's former officers in front of him. Optimus scorned internally. 

“So I was,” Stormsplitter answered to Ratbat while keeping her optics at Megatron. “It was an honor and I was proud to call myself a Decepticon.”

“Yes yes, you were a bot of an industrial caste if I recall correctly, so it's no wonder you'd make such a choice,” Ratbat said and laughed. 

“Your recollection is correct,” Stormsplitter verified. 

“My point is that even the worst kind of an enemy of the state can be rehabilitated! So there is hope for your officers too, they just need to be assigned proper work and maybe they can compensate their war crimes that way! Only Primus knows, but time will show,” Ratbat said shrugging and tossed the datapad carelessly back to Stormsplitter, who caught it with her left servo. 

“See you both in court!” Ratbat bid to the both prisoners and turned to leave. “Guards, you are dismissed.”

He walked out, but the guards stayed as they were, as did Stormsplitter. 

“My liege,” she began quietly, “I never gave up the cause.” She turned her right arm and showed off its large side plate with a polished and bright purple Decepticon mark on it. Megatron didn't say anything but stared back at her with a collected expression that was impossible to read. 

Whatever was in it was enough for Stormsplitter.  
“Soldiers! You are dismissed!” she ordered, strode out of the cabin and the guards formed neat paired line behind her and followed. The doors slid shut and the locks reactivated. 

Optimus and Megatron sat in silence for a long while after that, both thinking and once again re-evaluating the situation they were in. The new order of the Autobot-Decepticon Colony might have had mercy in store for them judging by the first impression, but with a figure of the old government it was a whole other nest of scraplets. 

Both Optimus and Megatron had set out to dismantle the old system of rule despite their different methods. That Cybertron hadn't been in eons, but a clearly hostile relic of the old rule still lurked around and that put the Prime and the warlord in a surprisingly equal position. Equal and worse than neither one could have guessed. 

“By the Pits,” Megatron finally mumbled and Optimus turned to him. “I tear down and grind a whole government into splinters and exterminate the very planet it had festered upon, and from that ruin and rubble that one dim-sparked corruption-ridden glitch survives?”

“Sometimes the very worst survive things that the best can't,” Optimus said. “I have to admit that we agree on this one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Say hello to my plot-advancing OCs.   
> I really love writing Optimus and Megatron just talking. They are so horrible and wonderful, and I hope I managed to share that with you readers.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always welcome!


	9. Temporary fates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see, dear readers! But here we are with a new chapter, and I hope you will enjoy it.   
> Hopefully there won't be this long breaks between updates in the near future. I'm so excited since this story is soon taking a new turn.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kudos and especially your comments! I'll be replying to them soon, but for now just know that I love all your speculations and gushing and opinions you presented. Thank you!

Stormsplitter ordered two of the guards to remain by the locked doors of the Prime and Lord Megatron's confinement room and dismissed the two others to other duties. Really, two guards were enough, and in her opinion there were much more important duties for capable soldiers than helping council member Ratbat show off. 

She decided to get back to work and headed towards an elevator, planning on getting to the lower hangar decks to supervise the cataloging and extraction of their spare equipment for the sake of Cybertron, but when she turned the corner she found her way blocked by a smaller bot, who smiled up to her with her servos on her pelvic plating. 

“The good council member commed me and complained about you,” Override said. “What happened this time?”

“Captain,” Stormsplitter greeted and saluted, then dropped the polite manner and icily continued: “What happened was that a glitching lord of Iacon used me and paraded me around in front of Lord Megatron like I was a blasted war trophy.”

Override made a face and gestured for Stormsplitter to walk with her. The Commander followed.

“You shouldn't talk about him in that manner,” Override sighed, but made the remark more out of obligation than serious will to correct her Commander. 

“I talk to you as I please, Captain. As the commanding officer of the battle force I hold the right to use strong language around my Captain,” she scoffed. 

“Is that a fact?”

“Now it is.”

Override covered her mouth with her servo and giggled. She hadn't ever been a person to be amused by gossiping or bad mouthing others, but Stormsplitter's bad habits were rubbing off on her. “Well. I'm sorry you had to endure that. Did you do something else that made him complain?”

“Other than treated him overly formally and said hi to Lord Megatron?” the commander shrugged. “Not really. My soldiers on the other hand showed that they obey _me_ , not him”.

“That will have to do,” Override said, nodding. She paused and glanced up to the Commander hesitantly before adding: “I don't think it is wise for you to speak of Megatron as 'lord'.”

Stormsplitter threw her a serious look. “I still respect him,” she said and reached to tap the mark on her arm. “I am a Decepticon after all, captain. Maybe I haven't followed Lord Megatron's path in eons, but the Decepticon cause as a whole is the right one. There will be a new Cybertron, and that cause will inevitably shape it. It will be a better one.”

Override shared Stormsplitter's feelings about the new era they were bringing. She had been an Autobot even before the war broke out and wouldn't want to see the old caste system re-established, but in her opinion the influence of the old leaders was a dangerous thing. 

“I want a new Cybertron as much as you do,” Override agreed, “but Megatron is dangerous. If he regains his standing among the people nothing good will come of it. You should be an example in embracing the new age without him.”

Stormsplitter gave a deep exvent, her wings lifting and lowering along it. “That is true, but he's a part of our history whether you like it or not. It was him who started this all, maybe in evil but also in good. Even if he let us down, he started out as our liberator and nothing changes that,” she said, low and cold. She stopped suddenly and turned to face the captain, who met her gaze seriously.   
“History should be accepted just as it is. It mustn't be changed or altered along the political interests, no matter how noble they might seem. A lie is a lie, captain.”

Override considered this, then nodded. “You place a lot of trust in Cybertronians, Commander. On their ability to make the right choice.”

“Are you afraid that they will raise Megatron on their shoulders again?” Stormsplitter asked, genuinely curious. 

“He has a way with words,” Override noted. 

“True,” Stormsplitter said, “but in all honesty if in one cup of a scale we have Ratbat and all that the old council stood for, I wouldn't object on having a genuine revolutionary from Kaon in the other one.” 

*

The presence of the Red Star turned out to be a fundamentally good thing. The Colony shared its technology and information, and when the mining for energon became easier the resources expanded, and with them the possibilities for rebuilding. 

When they executed a counting and cataloging of the returned citizens and their abilities, they were able to bring engineers and builders as well as chemists and physicists together. The Red Star had its own energon processing plant and it was used as a pattern for new ones, though the new models were upgraded due to the one on the Red Star being fairly old-fashioned. 

With the energy came the resources for building. Iacon held a nostalgic meaning to many as the old capital, but it was difficult to reconstruct since many parts of it were still standing but useless, only in the way of the new. The suburban areas were most thoroughly bombarded to the ground and so those were the areas easiest to rebuild, and simple elemental buildings were quickly built to allow some of the people to move out from the camps. 

For the first half of the orbital cycle refugees arrived as a steady stream, but after that the flow started to settle. New arrivals meant new abilities but also people who didn't know what was going on. A new beacon was set up aboard the Red Star that played a declaration of the New Cybertron and advised the newcomers to seek out the Red Star and its public records of the recent happenings.

Magenta, Infra and Glassrain shared their knowledge of the things they had witnessed as well as their abilities to archive them and had kept a careful record of everything since their arrival. A stroke of brilliance from Glassrain had prompted them to collect a vast variety of video statements equally from Autobots, Decepticons and neutrals in order to guarantee the validity of the records for all sides. 

On an unrelated note that was becoming more and more relevant as time went by, most of the refugees were not from Iacon and longed for their old homes. Glassrain was originally a seeker of Vos and missed her home even if it had turned into dust long before Cybertron had gone dark.

“I want to go home!” she declared one evening with determination burning in her optics. 

“I'm sorry, but... There's not even much of a ruin left of Vos,” Infra awkwardly said to her while rubbing the back of his helm.

“I know. But it will rise again! You shall see! We seekers were proud of our city and it will be so once more,” she said with an excited smile. “I know I'm not the only flyer who feels this way. The ground of Vos is still there, all we have to do is build upon it.”

She spoke great words of a thing that was easier said than done, but one thing she got right: She wasn't the only one feeling that way. In fact there were hundreds of bots who shared her wish - even if only part of the same enthusiasm, but that was enough for Operation Creation to be born. 

Pioneer teams of bots were assembled, comprising of architects, engineers, constructicons, miners and several others with varying abilities, and sent on their way to the old cities of Cybertron in order to start rebuilding them. 

Surprisingly many were up to continuing to live the camp life even without the roof of the space shuttles above them. A small team of scientists even came up with the idea to bring one of the moon bases back to life and accepted the lonely task up in space. 

Life was moving on, and when the seventh moon cycle since the official end of the war began, the imprisoned Autobot and Decepticon officers were given new jobs. 

Powerline and Ground Zero were the ones issuing the new orders to the prisoners, Powerline to the Autobots and Ground Zero to the Decepticons. They boarded the Red Star early in the morning and were debriefed by a group of law-educated bots who had negotiated and formed the legal side of the operation.

“The team off to Praxus lacks a few members who know how to build,” Powerline informed Wheeljack and Bulkhead. Bulkhead was on his pedes in a matter of kliks and ready to pick up his old job; being crammed inside had made him anxious and gloomy, and the promise of good honest labor done with his servos was a blessing from Primus to him. 

Wheeljack in turn had grown listless while captive and he accepted his temporary assignment with a grunt and not much else. Bulkhead was excited and energetic enough for both of them, Powerline decided and didn't make a note of the mech's passiveness. 

“Kaon is near the Badlands and that area is still full of all kinds of waste. They lack doctors,” Ground Zero told Knockout who was standing up and stretching his jammed joints the entire time she spoke. 

“So I still have a license to practice medicine?” Knockout chuckled. “Interesting. Well, whatever. Honestly I'm up for anything that gets me out of this cramped cell.”

“Kaon!? Phah! The core of all evil,” Ratchet grumbled at the same message, and his glare made even Powerline feel small.

“Well... Maybe so, but they will need all the help they are going to get,” Powerline explained, “also these are orders and I can't help -”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Ratchet impatiently said and brushed the explanations off, already packing up the small working station he had been provided to pass the time in his holding cell. “I'm an emergency vehicle, I go where the patients are. Now give me that pad, young mech, I'll show myself out.”

Knockout accepted his orders with glee and Ground Zero exvented in relief before she turned to speak to Starscream, who was passively staring out of the small cabin window and barely listening

“You are needed in Vos, Starscream. A comrade of my own is heading that way and she told me they are planning to do some changes to the infrastructure so flyers and grounders wouldn't be separated like they used to be. Your help was requested on cultural matters. My understanding is that you will be consulting about optimal flight routes and traffic planning.”

“Vos, huh...” Starscream mumbled, mostly to himself and didn't turn to accept his instructions, but Knockout did so for him. 

Ground Zero didn't know where on Soundwave she was supposed to look at so she awkwardly chose a spot in the middle of his visor and hoped for the best. “It is... It is the general understanding that you served as the – uh – communications officer, correct?”

Soundwave nodded, eerily quiet. 

Ground Zero focused her optics on the pad in her grasp. “Yes... Well, the thing is that... the grid – or well I suppose just the software at first... Uh, yeah! The software needs to be rewritten and made operational again so we can use other methods of communication than just radio signals. You will stay in Iacon and assist with this.”

A deep, emotionless voice spoke from Soundwave's record banks: “Affirmative.” 

The original owner of thar voice incidentally resided in the next holding cell, was as passive as Soundwave when receiving his orders, and with Shockwave's giant red light of a faceplate Ground Zero knew even less where to look. 

“We need new machinery,” Ground Zero told him and resolved the problem by not looking at Shockwave at all but instead kept her gaze glued on the datapad. “Engineers here in Iacon are coming up with blueprints for all kinds of useful things from home computers to factory equipment for mass production, and your abilities would be most welcome there.”

“Very logical,” Shockwave agreed, voice toneless and didn't even nod. “I shall give myself to this new project.”

Smokescreen and Bumblebee both wished with all their sparks they could remain together when they would step into their new and uncertain future.

“You two were tricky ones,” Powerline said to the pair. “Mostly because you're of the generation created and programmed during the war, and so neither one of you have any kind of education that would be particularly needed right now.”

The two young mechs exchanged a look, Smokescreen wounded and Bumblebee irritated. It wasn't their fault they had been created during a great and violent turning point of their history.

“But never mind that, you two shall be sent to the ruins of Crystal City,” Powerline read from the pad, completely unaware of the embarrassment and hurt between the two younger mechs. “You will report to a bot in command, their designation will be among the instructions, and you do whatever you are told to do. Just between us, I think you will be scavenging for recyclable garbage.”

Ultra Magnus was assigned to work with Magenta and they were to recover as much of old Cybertronian laws as possible, compare and update them with the laws of the Red Star Colony and make them publicly available. He was well aware from the moment he received the orders that the mission would take a notably long time, but he would have accepted that even if he had a choice. 

The bottom note of everyone's orders were the same: “You will go to your appointed post and carry out the duties assigned to you. You will regularly report back to a bot responsible for you and take this work period as a community service making up for your final official penalty. The work period will last for one full orbital cycle, and after that you will all return back to here in Iacon and face justice for your deeds during the war.”

Thus Operation Creation was initiated and bots parted ways. 

 

On the evening of the departure of the groups for Vos and Crystal City Stormsplitter brought the subject up with Override. They were watching the bright lights that were several varying types of ground and air vehicles departing in the glowing night of Cybertron for their destinations and missions, each one knowing they wouldn't meet the others in some time. 

Even if their time apart would be relatively short like just one orbital cycle or ten, good-byes always pulled an emotion wire in Override's system. 

“And so the new age begins, with the painful severing of loving bonds,” she said into the silence they shared.

Stormsplitter glanced at her. “Is that poetry?”

Override nodded. “Yes. From a very popular and influential poet from the Golden Age. His name was Sigma.”

“Oh,” Stormsplitter said. She didn't have education more than the basics of maintaining buildings and pipes with a blowtorch, but she could still appreciate meaningful words even without academic credentials. “It's very pretty.”

“I always thought so, yes,” Override answered and flashed her partner a kind smile. “I'm glad you like it. Maybe there will be room for poetry once more.”

Stormsplitter turned her helm to her and gave her a long serious look. “But with severing of loving bonds.”

“Yes, I suppose. What about that?” Override asked with a frown and felt suddenly cold. She didn't like it when the flyer wore her steely serious face and gave nothing away, because it usually meant bad news. 

“I've been thinking... There isn't much need for military anymore,” Stormsplitter began, slightly hesitant. “Now that the war is over what we actually need is a cleaning team.”

“There's always a need for military,” Override numbly said, fully knowing she spoke against her own beliefs. In truth she actually agreed that if not completely unnecessary the military was now at least secondary, and all other skills ranked above weapon wielding. “What's your point?”

Stormsplitter knew the other well enough to know that she was nervous, and cracked her steely image in order to give a faint smile to soften the news. “You know I'm not from Iacon,” she said. “I long for home too sometimes, even if it doesn't really exist anymore.”

Override was a bright bot and knew what was coming, yet she could only wait for it.

“I've been thinking returning for Kaon, at least for a while,” she said. “What do you think?”

“I... I think you should follow your spark,” Override said and tried to smile. “But you know I'm tied here, right? I'm the Captain here, and I need to manage the prisoners and lead my own people here in Iacon.”

“I know,” Stormsplitter admitted with a nod and a deep exvent. “That's why I ask your opinion. And don't give me that 'follow your spark' nonsense! You know my spark pulls me in two directions.”

Override gave a downwards glance and a low hum of unhappy acceptance. Stormsplitter extended her servo, took Override's smaller one in hers and held it tightly. 

“It wouldn't be for long,” she assured, unusually gentle. “I would go and help some and then return here.”

Override nodded and kept on nodding, but didn't say anything until Stormsplitter gave a small tug with her servo and pulled the smaller femme against her side, where she settled and gave a long exvent.

“Of course,” she said. “I knew there would be a day when we'd be apart longer than a few cycles. If you want to go, then you go.”

“It is better this way, trust me,” Stormsplitter replied. “We have our home back. You'll have actual living ground under your wheels and I can fly under a familiar sky. No more crammed spacecrafts or void or barren asteroids.”

Override exvented again and this time her EM field gave away a wave of contentment. “You are correct on this. I know it and it's not like I want to spoil it for you...” She chuckled. “I guess I'm being a bit selfish here, aren't I?”

“You'll learn that skill one day, this is just a start,” Stormsplitter said with a sly smile. “It's good for you. You don't have to be the sacrificing, selfless Captain any more. The exodus has ended. You don't have to feel so responsible for your crew anymore. They'll take care of themselves.”

“It's still difficult to believe... I saw it when Cybertron went dark. I'll never be able to banish that image from my processor.”

“Nobody will.”

They stayed like that for a long while, standing on the command bridge in front of the large round-cornered windshield. They had lived aboard the Red Star for a graciously long time, floating in space among the cold darkness and staring at the distant stars scattered around them. Back then it had almost felt like the home they had known had never existed in the first place. Being back on the surface of Cybertron now was like they had stepped inside a dream. 

*

Optimus Prime and Megatron couldn't be left in one room for the whole time until it would be decided what was to be done with them. The two of them were too much of a volatile compound together to be left like that, so alternative arrangements were made. Eventually Megatron was left in the cleared out storage room where they had been first been brought to, and Optimus Prime was taken to a similar one across the hallway. 

But before that point they spent about a moon cycle there together with nothing else to do than try and tolerate each other's company. 

After the initial reaction of violent anger passed, Megatron settled down to wait for his fate with a considerable amount of self-control and silence. It was like he had slipped into stasis from time to time, but Optimus knew better and recognized the posture and the feel of his EM field for ones of a bot in deep meditation. 

Optimus himself didn't have much talent for the practice but he was by nature a patient and introverted bot and didn't grow bored or restless easily. They passed long cycles, sometimes entire days' time, in silence with Megatron coming out of his trance only to fuel when the guards brought the daily rations, and Optimus lost in his thoughts, wondering how his team was doing and how Cybertron's rebuilding had started up, thinking about the future and sometimes wandering through the distant past. 

It was almost pleasant. Optimus certainly enjoyed the fact that it was possible for him and Megatron to be together long times without fighting – although any serious argument in their situation would have been pointless anyway and they both knew that, so it wasn't due to them actually getting along. Megatron wasn't stupid, Optimus knew that, but somehow he felt hopeful with the thought that the mech didn't hate him enough to fight with him for the pure merit of fighting alone. 

There was so much Optimus didn't know but would have liked to. He hadn't heard anything of his team since they had been imprisoned nor had there been any word of the future trial he knew was coming. He wasn't afraid of it. He had lost his fear of deactivation long time ago when there had been dark energon radiating its nauseating aura, bombs raining from the sky and laser fire sweeping the ground around him. He had felt the rush of the impending destruction around him a few too many times to be wary of a possible death sentence. Regardless of the end result of the trial, Optimus would give his spark for Cybertron. 

Or maybe he already had given it away, on the very moment when he had accepted the Matrix of Leadership. Or when his wish for something more – freedom, choice, a future forged by his own servos – had been ignited by one Megatronus roaring his manifesto from the pits of Kaon. 

The mech across from him had once been called Megatronus, a sharp and passionate gladiator he had looked up to when he was still called Orion Pax. Optimus let himself drink in the sight of the meditating mech, secure in the knowledge that he wasn't looking back, and marveled how little Megatron had changed outwardly; it was as if the war had left him untouched, like there was no part of him that the war could reach. One question that hadn't been answered during the eons of war was whether Megatron had changed at some point or had he always been this merciless and power-hungry would-be-tyrant and just pretended well. Had Orion ever truly known him, even a part of him? 

Optimus shook his helm. He was getting nostalgic with this much time in his servos and with nothing to occupy himself with. He was getting old. 

“Still certain that you too shall be executed?” asked a steady low voice. 

Of course Megatron would choose this moment to come out of his trance. Red optics onlined and looked across the room to him, clear and piercing. 

“It is inevitable that we receive the same penalty for our deeds,” Optimus answered. “But I have faith in Cybertronian people and therefore don't believe it will be termination that we'll receive.”

Megatron scoffed. “When energon is spilled, only energon will soothe the thirst.”

“A gladiator proverb?”

“Common logic.”

Optimus didn't agree, but he and Megatron both knew how vastly different their world views were so he didn't see the point of saying it out loud. “We're both to blame. We allowed the war to go on that long,” he said instead.

Megatron laughed, an ugly, mocking sound that hissed through his grinning dentae. “'Let'? Really, Optimus? You and I both know we didn't 'let' anything, we simply didn't manage to defeat each other. There's a difference.”

Optimus didn't like how Megatron made the long war time sound like a good thing, but he had been aware for a long time that Megatron didn't enjoy just simple fighting but also war. In the past Optimus had foolishly felt sorry for the gladiator and the life of violence he led without realizing that he had chosen that, not because he had to but because he enjoyed it. 

“Maybe so, but nevertheless, we led the two sides that brought the termination of so many, destroyed our planet and drove us this close to extinction. We will both be blamed equally and judged in that manner,” Optimus reasoned.

“If you really believe that you're a greater fool than I previously thought,” Megatron chuckled darkly. “Of course you will slither away from this.”

Optimus frowned at him. “I won't avoid justice whatever it brings -”

“I know you wouldn't but it isn't in your grasp now,” Megatron impatiently interrupted. “The Council survived. Legal institution works underneath it and you are their pet Prime! They'll find a way to save your paint.”

“Do you still think like that?” Optimus sighed with a desperate edge in his tone. “Even if it was true I would have served my purpose by now. You heard how Ratbat spoke to me.”

Megatron rolled his optics and gritted his dentae at the memory. “That little virus-ridden oil stain... The only reason I couldn't enjoy that moment was because I loathe the likes of him more than you.”

“It will be the likes of him that decide about our fate,” Optimus dryly noted, ignoring the foul language and subtle signs of resentment. He was starting to doubt about his earlier thoughts about Megatron's opinion on him. 

Megatron eyed him carefully, the effects of meditation making him less harsh and erratic than usual. The look in his optics was both confident and steady, not clouded by burning hatred or cunning like it had been so often. “Is your idea of cheering me up assuring me we will both be either executed or exiled together?”

“I have little concern for your mood but if that is what you take away from this, then yes,” Optimus answered, not completely without sarcasm.

The tone didn't escape Megatron, and he gave a reluctantly amused little smirk. “Then I will entertain the idea that our undignified ends come to us together.”

“Do as you like,” Optimus urged and turned his gaze away. 

Megatron chuckled at him, and on the edge of Optimus' visual feed he watched the mech slip back into meditation. 

*

The team for Kaon was about to depart from Iacon, and Override watched the party from the bridge of the Red Star. She swayed on her pedes back and forth, a picture of distress that she usually wasn't. It was a strange feeling to have an ache deep in your spark, like a jab of a needle had started to slowly poison the bright core and threatened to turn it into a black hole. 

She hadn't had enough of the Red Star yet even though she was in process leaving it behind. It was her ship after all and had been her home for eons, and leaving her behind wasn't a task done in one night. 

Her crew was moving out though. People were packing their things and preparing to move as soon as they'd manage to get something built, some even moving out to live in the camp rather than spending any more time in their low cabins and narrow hallways. Override didn't have a particular opinion on the quick emptying of the ship but she admitted she was a bit surprised. 

Cycling air felt more difficult than usual, but Override knew there was nothing wrong with her systems. This was purely psychosomatic reaction to parting ways with Stormsplitter and she would just have to handle it. 

If they would lead different ways in life, at least for a while, then so be it. They had their comm lines and the Grid of Cybertron would soon be in condition to allow long-distance telecommunications, so it wasn't like they'd be completely parted from each other, and she reminded herself of this for the umpteenth time. 

Her internal comm line bleeped. It was the private frequency she knew by her spark by now and answered.

“Did you change your mind after all?” she asked Stormsplitter and surprised herself with her joking tone. 

“No, still going. I just thought I'd give you a call now that I still can. After we take off and leave the interference from the camp will be too great,” Stormsplitter said through the line. There was a lot of background noise, heavy equipment and cargo being moved and several engines tuning and revving and warming up for a long flight. 

“Make sure to set up a proper radio tower the first thing when you arrive in Kaon. I always thought that city could use high-speed grid connection and a constant stream of entertainment. Drama, maybe,” Override lightly jested, her voice echoing on the empty bridge, the now toothless and hollow mouth of a great metal beast. 

“If I didn't know you any better I'd say you just want me to comm you,” Stormsplitter teased, a faint trace of amusement adorning her voice. 

“That would be most unprofessional, Commander!” Override answered and faked an offended tone with a servo dramatically on her chassis like she was performing to the empty bridge. 

A gentle hum came through from the other end of the line and the femmes shared an understanding.

“But seriously, did you want to say something before I leave?” Stormsplitter asked and returned them to the serious subject. 

Override thought for a few kliks how to put her thoughts into words, and the flyer waited for her patiently. 

“I was thinking about our earlier conversation,” she finally said. “About the leaders of the war.”

“We spoke about Lord Megatron, yes.”

Override still didn't like when Stormsplitter called the warlord of Kaon that but didn't make a remark so the conversation wouldn't be derailed. They didn't have much time after all. “Yes, that. And I think I was too pessimistic about his presence here.”

“Oh?” Some of the background noise quieted down and Override knew Stormsplitter had stopped doing whatever it was she had been doing so she could pay proper attention to her words. 

“After all, we do have Prime here, don't we?”

Stormsplitter gave a thoughtful grunt. “Hm, that's true. But why do you sound so uncertain? Don't you trust Optimus Prime?”

“Don't you?”

“You're the Autobot, Override. The Prime is your leader.”

“But I want to know how you see him.”

Stormsplitter exvented but answered anyway: “Optimus Prime is a skilled tactic and a frightening opponent in battle. I never met him on the field but I've heard stories. Why?”

“So you couldn't see him as a leader of the new Cybertron?” Override pressed and anxiously chewed on the soft inside lining of her intake.

The flyer was ominously quiet for a long while. The line rattled and for a klik Override feared she had entered the interference zone already. 

“I saw him as my enemy for a long while. To us he was an instrument of oppression used by the High Council. Why would Prime care about the oil stains from the Badlands after all?” 

Override felt her spark sinking to the bottom of its chamber. It stung, but then Stormsplitter went on: “But if he truly is as great a leader as the Autobots give him credit for, and if he truly would embrace us all as his people then... Then I might give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you, Stormsplitter,” Override sighed tenderly over the comm line. “Have a nice flight.”

“I will.”

The comm line went quiet.


	10. From heroes to war criminals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! After a shorter break this time, I present to you: The long-awaited trial!  
> This was so much fun to write; I love putting characters in to a spot-light like this. 
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments! I'm so glad TFP fandom is still around and alive.
> 
>  **EDIT 5.9.2017! For new readers:** Please feel free to comment on old chapters. I see that hits-number going up and I have no idea who you are!

It took another half of an orbital cycle to get everything ready for a proper court case before the official Department of Justice because there was so much preparations to do. All the evidence was gathered and handled meticulously in order for the process to appear proper and lawful, since the justice system had to win over the Cybertronian people by building a good image of itself in the eyes of the general public – not just the Red Star Colony it was originally from.

The war still throbbed in the society like a wound, not even rusted shut but gaping, a visible weakness in the frame of the new era and the people who longed to move forward. Autobots and Decepticons didn't seem to be able to join together without some scarring, and the situation had to be resolved and fast, but also with great care. 

It was decided among the professionals of law from the Colony that the reading of the charges would be made public via transmission, but only a certain amount of selected peers were to be allowed to the actual court where the witnesses and the defendants would be questioned and heard. The consideration process had been a private session between judges and consultants for a long time, not only before the war but predating even the caste system, and so it would be now. In turn, the declaration of the final judgment itself would be public. 

As for the bots who were to make these decisions, some changes to the traditions were in order. Ratbat might have been a member of the old Council, but he was no law graduate. He was allowed in the process only as an institution to be heard but without any real power over the final conclusion. Three judges were chosen, all graduates from the old Cybertronian Law Academy.

The first question that was raised during the preparations of the court case was the number of responsible parties.

“There are hundreds of officer-ranking members on both sides, Autobot and Decepticon,” noted the judge Neutron Star, a rather old mech from Crystal City and a hardened soldier from the Autobot side. “We can't possibly punish them all! That is neither sensible or even possible at the moment, considering our resources.”

“That is true,” responded judge Bitstream. “I suggest we go for the high command. It is a common military practice for the commanding officer to claim the responsibility for their subordinates, and based on that we can argue that theoretically both sides are punished but the officers carry the penalty due to the responsibility they consented to when they accepted their ranks.” Bitstream was a small and light femme with slight neurotic issues that were made evident by the way she spun and tapped with a datapad pen in her digits while she spoke. Her ticks aside she was a capable judge and known for reaching peaceful solutions through arbitration. 

“True, true, very true,” nodded Neutron Star.

“We have only one very pressing problem,” the third judge, Swift, said slowly. “How are we going to back this up legally? The laws on war criminals are lacking.”

“Well, we have them, so we have the power to judge criminals of war,” noted Bitstream.

“Yes, but this is a civil war we have just left behind,” Swift continued. “We have laws written with a background of fighting a war against invaders. We have laws against treason, deserting your duties and using certain sorts of weapons, but the acts of war in question have mostly occurred upon our own planet and against each other, all the weapon technology criminalized has been outdated for ages, and neither side served the state of Cybertron.”

“So what we really have in our feelers is a group of regular murderers or rioters with no loyalties or a state,” huffed Ratbat from his seat, looking positively unhappy about the direction the meeting was going.

“Not really murderers, no,” corrected Bitstream, spinning the pen. “Both sides have used force and it is everybot's right to defend themselves. We have assaults and use of lethal force along with rioting.”

“I think we can all agree that that is not an accurate way to describe past events,” chuckled Neutron Star dryly.

“And we haven't even touched the fact that many deeds occurred outside of Cybertronian space,” Swift added.

“Without an existing government,” finished Bitstream. 

Ratbat rolled his optics. He wasn't a dumb mech and he knew exactly how much correct methods meant in a volatile situation such as this one, but frustration was not a stranger to him. “So we will prosecute the officers and the leaders,” he concluded. “That is acceptable and – I believe – in the best interest of Cybertron.”

“Yes,” Bitstream said and tapped the pen against her small palm. “Besides even if we focused just on the events that occurred on the old Cybertron under the former High Council, and those upon the new Cybertron after its resurrection, we have more than enough evidence to gather up proper charges.”

Ratbat lightened up at the good news and nodded approvingly to Bitstream who smiled back at him. 

“Very true once again,” Neutron Star mumbled and nodded to the femme. “Our main goal along with justice being served would, in my humble opinion, have to be trying to make things settle down properly. We are here to start a new era of peace, not serve vengeance for every little slight that occurred during the war.”

“Yes, I agree. That would be futile. There were simply too many crimes and wrongs committed, we just have to aim for as much closure as we can and hope that is enough,” Swift said. He knew what he was talking about, and they all shared the feeling. All three judges had served in war, all of them among Autobots, and all of them had seen action. There was a certain understanding that existed between the judges, a certain will to move forward from those times and leave the mindset of a soldier behind. A thirst for vengeance was a part of the past. 

Ratbat didn't look too happy about this, like he had had a different and very specific idea of how to go about the business at hand and this wasn't it. He crossed his servos and rested his chin on them before speaking: “As a Council member I give you a piece of advice: Whatever the evidence presented and whatever the conclusion drawn, someone has to be punished severely, and you should present it in such a way that the general public can get the sense that they are punished for each and every crime committed during the war.”

Swift frowned. “You suggest propaganda, and actions based on a primitive sense of justice instead of written law and objective ethics. From my opinion we have had enough of that for quite a few generations.”

“If propaganda is what you want to call it, then go ahead,” Ratbat answered jovially, shrugging. “But this court case is first and foremost for the sake of peace. We need closure. The people need closure, and if we do not have the legal grounds to exercise the actions needed properly, then by Primus we will make it look like we do.”

“I don't like it either but for the sake of the people and lasting peace I can make a speech that makes our judgment look harsher. Then it's not the law we're stretching, it's the presentation,” Neutron Star noted with a light frown on his faceplate. 

“And we won't trust the public to receive the truth?” Swift argued back, clearly irritated.

Ratbat snorted and rolled his optics. He had a loud voice for a bot of his size and a tendency to steal the attention in a room as he did now despite the three judges being both larger and more educated than him, and their attentions turned to him. “The last time we trusted the general public we had a war,” he said drily. “And isn't that the very outcome we're trying to avoid?”

There was a heavy silence in the conference room. Swift's expression grew grimmer and for a moment he was lost in the memories of a battlefield, and even he was starting to lean on admitting that Ratbat had a point. 

“There is one other thing to consider,” Bitstream said and drew the attention of the three others. She tossed the datapen on the table and interlaced her digits. “All the judges are former Autobots. How are we going to convince the former Decepticon side of the public that we are unbiased?”

“Not to mention that the Council member Ratbat is what Decepticons hate the most in a can,” added Swift and his colleagues gave a grim chuckle. Ratbat frowned but didn't have anything to counter that. 

The problem was a tough one to solve. The large majority of Decepticons were made up of the people of the lower castes. There were gladiators, miners, factory workers and criminals, simple workers of transportation and storages, servants and waste disposal bots. Some of them had some kind of an education, but not Academy level one and definitely not law or even social sciences. 

“We simply need to consult them and accept their statements into evidence as gracefully as possible,” Neutron Star said. “It's not like we can postpone this long enough for one or two of them to conclude law studies.”

“This is an extremely delicate matter,” Bitstream pointed out, “are you sure it is enough?”

“If you have a better idea I'd be happy to hear it,” Neutron Star grimly responded. 

The official letters telling of the court case were sent out to the defendants in their appointed locations where they were serving in community service, ordering them to return to Iacon. All Decepticon and Autobot officers responded with a 'yes' within a solar cycle.

The date and the subject of the case was also released in the fledgeling news media of the planet. All relevant information was explained in layman's terms and handed out to the people, and public info screens were set up in every new-born city to avoid all accusations of secrecy. Everything was out there, the names of the accused, the judges and when the trial would finally begin, the records would be available for everybody who would like to see them. Absolute transparency was the number one priority.

For the reading of the charges, a public occasion, one of the large hangar decks of the Red Star was transformed into a court room. The whole case was to be handled aboard the spaceship because it was the largest indoor space they had, there was needed technology available and the very important prisoners of war were held aboard as well. Despite the large space it wasn't enough for all those who wanted to be present, and many had to settle for a computer screen at their residences or a public screen. 

Magenta was one of those very few who had the chance to attend the actual occasion, but chose not to. Out of courtesy for a respected work partner she walked with Ultra Magnus to the Red Star early in the morning on the day of the first session and could have stayed there and taken a seat in the court room, but she didn't want to stay for the great event which she expected to be a circus of propaganda anyway. 

The whole thing was supposed to be over in just seven solar cycles which in itself ground her gears. To handle this massive cluster of events in just seven solar cycles and convict twelve accused bots gave her a bad vibe. Ultra Magnus had listened to her worries and doubts and reasoned that the leaders just wanted order and closure for the people and get this thing finally over with, but Magenta wasn't convinced.  
If the Council and the Department of Justice thought they could brush off the civil war in just seven solar cycles they were fooling themselves. 

Magenta watched the broadcast in the small recently built office building in the blue-collar district of Iacon, in the very same office she and Ultra Magnus had worked for the past six moon cycles and on the same computer console she used for typing and archiving both the finished and in progress documents. She didn't know any of the judges from before, but according to their background files they were all graduates of the Crystal City Academy of Law and had practiced in their respectable fields both before the war and after in the Red Star Colony. She wondered if any one of them had worked directly with Optimus Prime. Neither Bitstream, Neutron Star or Swift had their Autobot marks anymore.

On the screen was a large hall that had quickly been transformed to fit for the official court hearing. Everything was strictly practical, grandiosity kept to a minimum, and as soon as silence settled, the most experienced judge Swift stood up and started to recite the charges.

“The court has been gathered here today to charge the following Cybertronian citizens: Ultra Magnus. Ratchet. Starscream. Soundwave. Arcee. Bulkhead. Wheeljack. Knockout. Shockwave. Bumblebee. Smokescreen. The named defendants have held the most high-ranking officer positions until the last moments of the Autobot-Decepticon civil war.

“Charges against all the defendants are the following in order of severity: Crimes against the sentient people, conspiracy to commit a genocide, extermination, involvement in mass-extermination, possession and use of illegal weaponry, invasion of foreign space, supporting and partaking in a militant anti-government movement, partaking in violent rioting, destroying public property and various minor charges involving assaults, thefts and crafting unauthorized weapons and hazardous chemical compounds.

“The accused have previously admitted to being high-ranking officers of either of two sides involved in the previous conflict that shall in future be referred to as the “Bot-Con Civil War”. In today's session each one of the defendants shall answer the questions the court presents to them and thus tell the truth of the events and deeds that occurred or were committed in the past.”

Swift sat down and the court room buzzed with murmurs in the crowd. The camera operator zoomed out and Magenta saw the hall in its entirety. The audience was separated from the area in front where the judges were positioned on a elevated stage behind a long table. Before the stage was a stand for each called defendant and witness to present their statements and answer the questions, and vertically to the judges' stage and to the left was a long metal bench where all the defendants were seated. Opposite from that was a vertically placed table that had the members of the Council seated in, leaving an empty space between them. Magenta didn't recognize the four other members but Ratbat was a familiar face, the only one left of the High Council of the old Cybertron. 

The area was heavily guarded, and Magenta counted at least a dozen bots securing the order in the court. Somehow this amused her since in her opinion the bots most likely to cause mayhem were in stasis cuffs and sitting on the bench, or somewhere hidden away in the Red Star and shackled to the floor. 

Then began the calling of the defendants to the stand. The questions seemed to follow the same pattern each time, varying only to clarify some specific points such as the exact nature of one's role in a certain event or the relationship to someone. 

What is your designation, former caste and the city assigned to you on the moment of your creation? When did you join the Autobot or the Decepticon side and why? What was your role in your faction? What has been your role in it for the past five orbital cycles? How would you describe your relationship to the leader of your faction? How do you defend yourself before the court and the people of Cybertron?

Each of the officers came up to the stand when they were called, and to the wonder of many didn't cause any commotion but answered the questions professionally and with a varying level of calm. Ultra Magnus was called first and he was a picture of rigid stoicism when he answered each of the queries that Judge Bitstream presented to him with as few words as possible. His response to the question “how do you defend yourself?” was short but so firm and good that almost everyone that stepped up after him used parts of it in one way or another: “I reacted to an extreme situation and fought for what I thought was right. Prime called for me and I answered. Everything I did was in hopes of ending the conflict, though I am in no place to say whether it was right or wrong. That decision I place in the capable, wise servos of the honorable judges as I answer to the people of Cybertron.”

While listening Magenta quickly noticed how she learned things she hadn't even thought about. These were bots she was acquainted to, worked with and learned a little bit about through Ultra Magnus. Before that she had known them only by their reputations as soldiers, but now there was all this mundane information:

“My designation is Arcee, I was a trapeze dancer from Crystal City.”

“Designation: Wheeljack. A Constructicon from Hydraux.”

“Designation: Shockwave. Crystal City, Science Academy, researcher.”

“Knockout. Kaon, doctor.”

“My designation is Starscream. I was a seeker of Vos, an Air Commander in the Honorary Guard.”

“I'm – my designation is Smokescreen. Iacon, Alpha Trion's guard.”

“Designation: Bumblebee. No home city. A Scout.”

Even though the hall had had small bursts of murmurs and chatter, it fell entirely quiet when the officers were called up and each answered to the “why did you join your faction?” question. 

Magenta could see why as she too felt an ache in her spark each time someone told their story from that chaotic last orbital cycles between fragile peace and open war. She remembered the bombings before the war had broken out and knew very well how this conflict was a painful memory for each and every Cybertronian. 

“I joined along with my sister from the circus. It was the only thing to do if we wanted to live.”

“Well I wasn't just going to sit on my bumper and watch as Hydraux burned.”

“All those I knew joined the Decepticons. I went were my patients went, that's all.”

“I was enlisted when I was created. Nobody asked my opinion.”

“Decepticons fought for a better, free Cybertron. As I agreed with it, it was logical to pick up arms to fight back the oppressors of the high castes.”

All the officers were heard and the judges made notes as they spoke. Magenta found herself practically lying on the table of the dark office, her faceplate barely a servo's measure away from the screen.

Judges took a special interest in Ratchet and Soundwave, them being the two bots who knew the leaders of both sides the best.

Soundwave was called to the stand first of the two.

“Designation: Soundwave. Gladiator of Kaon.”

Bitstream stopped right there and the questioning was sidetracked. She narrowed her optics. “Gladiator is not a designated function. Please state your actual designated function for the purposes of proper records.”

“Designation: Soundwave. Named and thus created in the pits of Kaon. Soundwave does not recognize old Cybertron's slavery as his function.”

The comment caused Bitstream to become baffled for a few kliks. The crowd buzzed, a few bots even clapped. Neutron Star had to bang the judge's white marble against its plate to demand order. Bitstream stood strong and stared at Soundwave's expressionless visor for a few kliks, weighting if arguing this would be worth it or not. The usage of internal comm lines during a court session was illegal, so the decision was solely up to her. 

She continued: “Very well. The court recognizes your beliefs on the matter. Please tell when and why did you join the movement called Decepticons.”

“Soundwave and Lord Megatron were gladiator brothers in Kaon. Megatron saw the great flaw and injustice in Cybertron and made others see it too. Soundwave joined the battle because it was just.”

Bitstream nodded and started to walk a slow circle in front of the witness stand, her heeled pedes clicking against the metal floor as she strode. Soundwave's helm stayed still. He might have followed her with his optics – if he had those – or not, there was no way to tell. 

“You mentioned you and the Decepticon leader Megatron were brothers. Do you share a split spark?” she asked.

“No, we do not,” answered Soundwave.

“Yet you call him brother. Why is this?”

“A brother in arms. We met on the sands once and it was a great, honorable battle. We fought side by side many times after that, and we share great respect for one another. Later we shared a vision, and Soundwave served his brother loyally and still continues to do so.”

“So you would say you still serve this 'Megatron' of Kaon?” Bitstream challenged. 

“Until the day of my deactivation, Soundwave has sworn,” answered Soundwave, and again the crowd had to be silenced before they went on. 

Back at the office in front of her computer Magenta thought that Soundwave was probably a worse threat than Megatron himself since he was a true believer. Megatron hadn't believed in anything but himself in eons, and even if Soundwave didn't see that he was still as fanatic a follower as ever. 

“You have known Megatron for a long time then,” Bitstream continued. “How did you come to associate with him?” 

“Megatron was a gladiator before Soundwave. Even though he was not yet a champion he was the Terror of Kaon and Soundwave respected that. We met in a match that was to be fought to the first wound. Soundwave won that one. Megatron respected it and so we came to be brothers in arms,” Soundwave told and the passiveness of his voice didn't crackle not once, not even when he told he had won a match against Megatron. 

Magenta would have liked to see the row of officers on the bench of the accused so she could give an educated guess on how many of them had known about that. 

Bitstream didn't look surprised, barely even affected by the fact. “Fascinating indeed, Soundwave of Kaon. I understand you were quite close with Megatron, so could you tell of his early association with a mech called Orion Pax?”

There was a silence so absolute in the court room it was as if the sound of the feed had been switched off. Magenta had to do a search through her memory banks to properly place the name “Orion Pax”. She hadn't heard that name uttered in hundreds of thousands of orbital cycles and no wonder: That mech was known by another designation nowadays. But all things considered she was worried about why the judge wanted to ask Soundwave about Optimus Prime's past. 

Soundwave tilted his helm ever so slightly. “Soundwave could,” he answered. 

Bitstream stood still right in front of the stand in an angle where both Soundwave and the crowd behind them could see her faceplate. She smiled. “Then please do.”

“Megatron received a message from Orion Pax of Iacon one day several orbital cycles before the war, when the Decepticon agenda was still a mere protoform. Orion Pax had heard him speak through the Grid and wanted to warn him of possible eavesdroppers who might want to put an end to his ideas,” Soundwave told. 

Magenta frowned. She hadn't known that. She wondered how many had. 

“So he wanted Megatron to stay safe?” Bitstream clarified. 

Soundwave considered this for a moment. “Soundwave does not know for sure, but supposes that was the state of things then.”

“You suppose?” Bitstream chuckled. “Aren’t you the infamous Soundwave, the optics and audio receptors of the Decepticons? And you 'suppose'?”

“Soundwave is observant. Soundwave does not read minds.”

Bitstream gave a shrug and nodded. “A fair point. Then how do you suppose things were then?”

“Orion Pax was one of the bots whom Megatron made see the injustice Cybertron had then. Orion Pax joined us then and followed Megatron for some time, and Megatron welcomed him among us despite him being an ignorant Iaconian.”

“Really?” Bitstream hummed. “So Orion Pax was a Decepticon?”

There was a grumbling and muttering in the crowd now louder than any time before. The question was received as a baseless accusation, and Magenta didn't need to wonder why. It was one thing to bring Optimus Prime's early associations with Megatron to light, but a whole different matter to accuse him of being a Decepticon. 

“That is not true,” Soundwave answered firmly, the first hint of emotion in his voice during the questioning being a slight offense. “Orion Pax was never a Decepticon. He betrayed us and went on to form his own followers called the Autobots.”

The crowd was still moving and muttering and it was clearly time to wrap this up, so Bitstream went through the rest of the questions about Soundwave himself and then gave him the permission to leave the stand. 

One other bot that the court considered equally interesting was Ratchet, who in turn was the least happy of them all to be at the stand and handled it mostly with icy cold professionalism.

“My designation is Ratchet, I was created and programmed in Iacon and it was there I graduated from the Medical Academy and practiced medicine,” he listed and refused to look at the judge asking the questions and instead stared over not only her but the crowd as well. 

“And how did you come to join the Autobots?”

Ratchet seemed to catch himself just in time and didn't scoff. “There wasn't much of a choice by that time. Anyone who functioned then knew it was a time you had to choose the side you stood on, and I haven't ever been a mech to turn a blind optic to wrongdoings, regardless of how mild or severe.”

“And this was not because of your relations to a bot called Optimus, formerly known as Orion Pax?” Bitstream asked, her expression unreadable. 

Ratchet's frown deepened as he weighed the question. “Optimus and my friendship with him played a part, yes. He was my friend and I trusted he knew what was right and what was wrong. A bigger part of it was that he became our Prime, and when Prime calls you to join him, you go.”

This caused the crowd to mutter in an agreeing tone. Magenta wondered how many Autobots and how many Decepticons were present there, and how many had scrubbed the mark off of their frame like the judges had done. 

Bitstream had her servos behind her back and she kept nodding along as Ratchet spoke but somehow managed to not look approving while doing it. “Doctor Ratchet, you say you trusted Orion Pax's ability to tell right from wrong, yet the Decepticons' third in command has just testified that Orion Pax associated with Megatron and his followers. Aren't they, as the opposing side, ones you would consider being in the wrong?”

Ratchet looked taken aback and slightly offended by the question. “In the very early days they associated, yes. But it was only talks and theory back then! Orion and Megatron never agreed on anything else but that the caste system old Cybertron was built upon was unjust.” 

“When did Orion Pax, according to your knowledge, sever his ties to Megatron and the Decepticons?” Bitstream pressed on.

Ratchet's frown stayed in place and he stared rigidly straight ahead, like he wanted to glance at the other Autobots to his left but wouldn't dare to show any signs of uncertainty. 

“When Megatron and Orion Pax spoke in front of the High Council and Orion was made Prime,” Ratchet said. “Megatron declared war on us all and Optimus took the responsibilities of Prime and protected us.”

Bitstream turned to face the crowd. “As we all know, the video record of this High Council audience has been lost but the written records survived the crash of the Grid, and those are available to all who should have interest in reading them.“ She turned back to Ratchet and continued: “By that point the Decepticons had already committed several bomb attacks in various places on Cybertron, among them the amusement park Six Lasers, and Orion Pax was still willingly associating with them? Why, in your opinion, was that?”

If Ratchet had looked offended before, now anyone who knew him at all could see from his narrowed optics and stiff shoulders he was downright insulted. “He didn't know about any of those! Megatron claimed to the last moment before the war that he didn't have anything to do with the acts of terror!”

“And there was no way Orion Pax could have known any better?”

“No, ma'am, there was not,” Ratchet firmly told her with his left servo gripping the edge of the stand. 

Bitstream took a moment of silence before turning to look at the judges' table on the stage. Neutron Star and Swift were both typing on their pads in frantic pace, and Swift only raised his gaze prompted by the silence and met Bitstream's optics. He waved his servo in a winding motion, telling her to proceed.

“And how would you describe your role in the Autobots?” Bitstream asked Ratchet.

“I am a doctor, so most of the time I worked as a field medic,” Ratchet said but didn't relax despite the topic change. “I tended to the wounded, mostly Autobots but sometimes Decepticons too, and besides that served mostly as the technical support in base camps.”

“And have you ever fought in the front line?”

“Yes, I have. Our numbers ran low in the last millenia so even a doctor like me ended up in the field every now and then,” Ratchet replied, his tone not indicating how he personally felt about that at all. 

“Very well. And how would you describe your relationship with Optimus Prime? Did you remain friends and what was your position in the chain of command?”

Ratchet's frown was back and he treaded carefully. “Optimus is my oldest friend but he treats me no different from others under his command. I acted as the third-in-command in Ultra Magnus' absence.”

“Well, thank you, doctor Ratchet. No other questions, step down please.” 

That was the goal of the first day of the court handling achieved, with the statements from the defendants collected. The broadcast continued with the official wrap up of the session and a quick explanation from the judges when and how the session would proceed the next day. 

Magenta wasn't interested in that, she already knew how. The defendants would receive temporary residences aboard the Red Star and stay until a sentence was agreed on, and the judges and the consulting Council would retreat behind closed doors to discuss and ponder upon the evidence presented to them. 

The next two days would be full of hearing lower ranking soldiers and citizens who had relevant knowledge of either the last ten orbital cycles or the time before the war. Magenta knew at least a dozen vehicons and eradicons had been called to testify, Chromehook and Collision among them, as well as Infra and Ground Zero due to their status as the first arriving refugees and their knowledge of the last days of the unofficial ceasefire. 

What Magenta really was interested in was the session concerning Optimus Prime and Megatron, but that wasn't scheduled until three solar cycles ahead. The first three would be dedicated for the officers and relevant witnesses, and the following three for the leaders, and on the evening of the seventh cycle the sentences were to be publicized. 

The following solar cycles the only topic of speech on the entire planet seemed to be the trial, and the next four cycles the tension grew and grew in the wait of witnessing the leaders speaking their minds before the Department of Justice. The planet buzzed and buzzed like one giant circuit board, and finally the fourth solar cycle came about.

The first thing Magenta noticed when she tuned in for the broadcast was that the connection was just a fracture slower than the previous ones. Truly, it seemed that the entire population was following the stream, the newly established Grid barely holding up. The court room was silent, and even through the camera one could feel the tension and anxiety of the attendees. Finally the doors in the back opened, revealing the accused. Seeing Optimus Prime and Warlord Megatron like that was peculiar while strangely thrilling as well. 

Magenta could immediately see it had been a wise decision to have the session with closed doors when the two prisoners were brought in; even through the screen she could sense the presence both mechs carried with them, the very same they had wielded when they had sparked a revolution that had soured into a long bitter war. 

Against all expectations Megatron wasn't brought in chains or even stasis cuffs, but with as much dignity as the rest of the accused had, and right away it felt obvious: No matter what he was and what he had done or what would become of him after the trial, he was still the leader of Decepticons and still held the respect of many, and disrespecting him now would only needlessly endanger the peace they had achieved. Magenta understood this, but wondered if everyone was ready to accept this. There were many who would have rejoiced to see him in chains.

The bot operating the camera only followed the bringing in and the seating of the two mechs without focusing on either one, but Megatron had an ability to draw the attention to himself regardless. The expression on his faceplate was one of steely resentment for the system, but icy cold and perfectly under control. 

Optimus Prime wasn't any less capturing a figure but very different and smaller in size, and he never made a show of himself. Magenta leaned closer to the screen. Optimus Prime was a picture of serenity even in the situation like this one. Magenta knew she shouldn't have been surprised by this, especially since she couldn't image Prime reacting any other way, but still she was impressed by his way of looking calm but not weak or defeated, confident and proud, but oddly humble at the same time.

Despite being seated side by side, Megatron and Optimus Prime didn't look at each other once. 

Swift hit the judge's marble against its plate twice, and so the court was officially in session. 

The list of charges was an incredibly long one even though many things were lumped together under names like “crimes against Cybertronian people”, “mass extermination”, and the camera showed only Bitstream as she recited them all during long klikcycles, the camera not even once turning to either one of the accused. 

When the list of charges had been read, the judge Bitstream formally asked how the defendants respond, and Megatron of Kaon was asked to step up and do so. The mech held his helm high and proud as he walked across the hall with no rush and sat down in front of the judges. Neutron Star stepped down from the stage to do the questioning. 

Megatron seemed calm and collected. He didn't look around to lock optics with the council members nor did he gaze to the camera, but laid his servos on the surface before him and crossed them while he patiently waited for Neutron Star to begin.

In her office Magenta stalled her ventilation like countless bots around Cybertron. 

“Please state your designation and assigned location,” Neutron Star said, and to his credit his voice didn't crack or in fact give any kind of impression he was talking to anyone else but an ordinary defendant. 

There was a serious, steely expression on Megatron's face as he kept his optics nailed on Neutron Star.

“You know very well who I am,” he answered calmly, like the weather before storm. 

“It is simply for the sake of proper record keeping,” Neutron Star responded right away.

Megatron was quiet for a klik, not rolling his optics or even narrowing them, but weighed the situation like a gladiator would an opponent. 

“I am Megatron of Kaon,” he answered. “My designated function was mining until my deactivation, but I refused that and sought out the pits of Kaon where I became a gladiator.” 

Neutron Star seemed pleased that Megatron had decided to cooperate and started to slowly stroll back and forth before the witness stand as he spoke, and Megatron's gaze followed him. 

“The charges have been presented to you, and the evidence against you are overwhelming. Your crimes against Cybertronian people are well-known. Many of us have witnessed them first-hand and suffered the effects. You have been charged with the manufacturing and ordering the usage of biological warfare such as cybonic plague, the bombings of the former Crystal City and the spilling of a pollutant called dark energon. Do you have anything to say or defend yourself with?” Neutron Star listed while remaining impressively professional even though Magenta thought she was detecting a small drop of accusing undertone that was purely personal. 

“It was war. War is cruel,” Megatron said, voice low and steady. “Soldiers want to win the war, and that was the way I lead the Decepticons. Towards victory and a new era.”

“That is not an answer, Megatron of Kaon,” Neutron Star countered. “That is simply your own beliefs. We are not gathered here to hear about your beliefs.”

The expression of Megatron's face didn't stir one bit, and neither did he break optic contact with Neutron Star. “My beliefs drove my actions, and it was about my actions that you asked. Those two can't be separated.”

“Please clarify,” Neutron Star pressed on, spun around on his heels and kept walking. The camera framed him and Megatron in the same shot without following either one's movements.”How do you defend your actions that lead into death of millions of Cybertronian citizens and the offlining of our planet? The record will note that as the highest ranking officer and the widely recognized leader of the movement called Decepticons, Megatron of Kaon will ultimately carry the responsibility for all actions committed by any and every bot wearing the mark of Decepticons.”

“I am not going to defend myself,” Megatron said. 

The hall fell silent. All judges lifted their helms to look at the former gladiator like they had just seen him for the first time, and the record keeper who had just begun to type in what Neutron Star had ordered paused too. 

Magenta could barely believe her own audio receptors. She had known Megatron to be shameless and a true believer in his own madness, but hearing these outrageous claims for real was nothing she could have been prepared for. 

Neutron Star recovered rather quickly, Primus bless him and his professionalism. “You won't defend yourself? Are you pleading guilty then?”

Megatron raised his helm, proud and cold expression still in place. “I know what I have done and I regret nothing. What I did I did with the rage of a member of a disposable caste, a bot judged on the moment of their creation to be the lowest of the low and never anything more. I did it with the anger sparked by an unfair society that is built on the shoulders of our own, that without a second thought trampled that foundation. I wielded the sword that cut off the glitching, corrupted helm of that society and now it has been terminated. I am also the mech who turned the keys in the Omega Lock and brought about Cybertron's resurrection. Now you are free to build upon the smelted and newly forged ground, and I swear from Primus and to all the way to Unicron himself that you better terminate me now so I won't hunt down the last traces of rust still crawling among us.”

Megatron threw a glance somewhere to his far right, and Magenta was fairly sure he was looking at Ratbat in the Council's table. 

Tense, dead silence followed and nobody dared to even twitch a joint in the hall. Not even Swift could flinch in the stunned aftershock of Megatron's declarations and demands, but somehow Neutron Star managed to jumpstart his processor and carry on like it was every cycle a genocidal tyrant took over the show in his court room.

“No other questions,” he said. “Please step down.”

His words seemed to set the whole session back on track, and the other judges stunned into silence until now straightened their spinal struts and quickly put on neutral expressions.

Megatron did as he was told with all the prowl of a mech who ruled over his own destiny and had no regrets. He turned his back to the council's table and walked back to the bench of the charged, and despite the tense and electrified air in the room he also made it back to his seat. Nothing exploded, nothing drastic happened. The court session was going on and the peace that lay on the edge of a knife was preserved. 

Next it was Optimus Prime who was called up to the witness stand. He was calm and polite and acted as if he was just another Cybertronian citizen come to solve some rather messy but still a small matter in the court. 

Neutron Star seemed to sense what the aura of Optimus Prime was presenting and acted with noticeably less amount of strain and worry than he had with Megatron.

“Please state you designation, city of origin and assigned function,” Neutron Star said, and dispassionately Optimus Prime answered: “My original designation is Orion Pax. I am from the city of Iacon, where I worked as an archivist.”

Neutron Star was just about to move on to the next question, but Swift hit the judge's marble against its plate once, and the speaking turn transferred to him. 

“The record will notify that despite his original designation, the defendant shall be referred to as Optimus Prime. It is an exception made for the sake of clarity and out of respect for the decisions of the former Council.”

The typist made the remark into the records, and the session was allowed to continue again.

“Optimus Prime,” started Neutron Star, “you have heard the charges. You have been recognized as the leader of a political and military fraction called the Autobots. Is this correct?”

“Yes, it is,” Optimus answered. 

“Justice sees that this means you carry the responsibility for all the actions committed under the Autobot name and command. This includes war mongering, crimes against the people of Cybertron, engaging in extreme actions of mass destruction and multiple war crimes. How do you defend yourself?” Neutron Star asked. His voice was hard but didn't carry the same sharp edge as it had when he had recited the charges for Megatron. 

Optimus gave a small serene smile not directed to anyone in particular. “I do not plan to defend myself, honorable servants of justice. Long ago I was appointed Prime, and that I still am. Whatever crimes our people have committed during war times, whatever grudges you hold and whatever deeds need to be answered for, I will take the blame for them all. The war is in the past and the people of Cybertron need to enter the new age freely, and all the crimes and horrors that stand in the way I will gladly accept on my shoulders. So pass the judgment you see fit, and let our people walk free.”

The silence after Optimus Prime was done talking was keen and heavy. The response wasn't as much stunned as it was a gesture of appreciation for the Prime, and it lasted almost for a full klikcycle. 

“No other questions,” Neutron Star said quietly but every word clear in the hall. “Please step down, Optimus Prime.”

Prime rose up and walked back to the bench with his helm high and expression peaceful, an image of a mech who knew he was accepting a heavy burden but was at peace with that. 

Both defendants had been heard and the session was drawing to an end. Neutron Star stepped up to the stage and to his seat, and all judges rose up and the hall with them. 

Swift spoke: “The charges have been recited and the defendants have been heard. The court will retreat to make the final decision, and the judgment shall be passed in three solar cycles.”

He raised the judge's marble and hit the plate three time, finishing the session. 

The transmission ended and like so many others all over Cybertron, Magenta was left with her thoughts and feelings before a blank screen.


	11. The judgment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me and my amazing beta reader now bring you an update, a chapter where justice is finally served!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my story and leaving your amazing comments. It has truly been a pleasure to read your thoughts and feelings, and I welcome them all in the future as well. :)

For the next three solar cycles the whole planet seemed to buzzing. The new network was constantly crashing with too much teletraffic, and people had to eventually get old-fashioned and come outside to talk with each other. Bots who knew anyone of the accused or had had any connection to them, no matter how old or inactive, found themselves suddenly in the center of raging conversations and consulting speculations, and it seemed everyone had a thousand questions to throw in the mix. 

Someone had been Ratchet's classmate back in the medical academy; another had served under Ultra Magnus' command. This one had been in the audience of Arcee's last performance; that one had been working in the same construction site as Wheeljack and so on and so on. The more heated the discussion got, the less personal the connections brought up were, but everyone was interested anyway, wanting to absorb every single drop of possible new information. Life went on as it had until then, with rebuilding and setting foundations for the society in the slowly clearing ruins of the major cities, but the constant anxious chatter wasn't restrained by work. In addition, the work places tended to have a strong majority of either faction due to the past split in the society, and that tended to control the general tone of the conversation. But the biggest question on everybody's lipplates was essentially the same: What would happen next and what would it mean for the future of Cybertron?

The most burning one was the problem of the two mechs in the core of the whole thing. It were Optimus Prime and Megatron who had been both in the eye of the storm and the ones leading it on, and if you asked anyone of the Red Star Colony – that fully consisted of bots who had known neutrality and stable existence for a long while – they were both equally guilty and should be either executed or at least exiled until the Allspark called them home. 

But making the decision laid on the Council and the Department of Justice, and it was not an easy task. They had three solar cycles to comb through the statements and the evidence presented, then use these for a conclusion that would be just and wise according to their written law. 

“I don't think anyone disagrees on the guilty part,” Swift began the conversation. “They are war criminals, every single one of them, on both sides.”

There was a faint agreeable murmur across the conference room, but only Bitstream actually spoke up: “That is not a very lawful approach to this, to have a decision ready even though we haven't even begun the discussion.”

“Well... this is a rather clean-cut case,” Neutron Star said but looked everything but happy about it. 

The mood was overall grim around the table. On the pad screens each partaker had a video conclusion of each statement as well as the written records of both trials, but no one was paying them much attention, just scrolling through them. They all remembered well what had been said. 

The three judges held the power over the final decision, but four elected council members were important advisers and present. Ratbat, the only one who had been holding the position during the time of old Cybertron, had been voted to be one of them right away because his experience was trusted. 

“Well if this is a clean-cut case isn't the penalty simple as well?” Ratbat said and brought up the solution no one wanted to mention but everyone was thinking. “Termination to the leaders.”

Some glances were exchanged, some stared ahead with a frown. 

Ratbat went on: “We have hard evidence, including confessions from both leaders, that they collaborated together in the beginning, thus the blame of the conflict and destruction lays equally on both of them. And how else would we punish a bot for as grave a deed as this one? Look at the state of our planet! Think about the eons wasted in exodus! What else will finish this for good than casting the main culprits back to the Allspark?”

His fellow council members nodded along his speech, and some notes were passed along from pad to pad. The reasoning was solid, and there was no denying the truth in Ratbat's words. Neutron Star looked thoughtful and nodded a few times but it was unclear at what while Bitstream maintained a carefully neutral expression and Swift's frown grew gloomier. 

“I second council member Ratbat's words,” said one of the four council members, a small but bulky femme without a paintjob, her voice as composed as her appearance. “But we cannot remove this decision of its context, which is highly political. We have an extremely volatile situation in our servos, and we must consider the wishes and hopes of the people as well as the laws.” 

“The people as a whole are uneducated on these matters, council member Actinide,” Ratbat noted sharply.

“That may be, but that won't stop them from reacting if they feel the decision we make is unjust,” Actinide answered. “How short is your memory drive's playback? We have just come out of a war caused by injustice, and from my opinion the main point here is trying to avoid a second one.”

“Are you saying that the law should bend to fit whatever the people think?” Bitstream asked and didn't sound pleased at all at the suggestion. 

Actinide shook her helm. “I'm saying we should learn from the past and consider what the people think is right and what is wrong. From my opinion our most important job is to secure a peaceful future, and that means setting aside personal grudges. Laws are not meant to function as tools for revenge.” 

“You make an excellent point, council member,” Neutron Star admitted. “I join your opinion. We must regard the public opinion as an important factor in the decision.”

“We could pardon the officers,” Ratbat suggested. “Their leaders carry the full responsibility.”

Swift hummed, discontent and spoke for the first time: “I don't know about that... Especially the Decepticon officers need to be at least supervised and eased into the society. But that can be discussed later, the leaders are the real problem here. Optimus Prime is a Prime and nothing changes that. Never in the whole of Cybertronian history has a Prime been executed. I do not favor this option.” 

“But this is a unique situation,” Bitstream commented. “I don't think we have any precedents that would guide us.”

“Thus we must practice extreme caution! You all seem to forget that Optimus Prime has faithfully served the people of Cybertron and has publicly expressed his will to do so in the future as well. Is a cold execution the way the new Cybertron would want to reward such selflessness?” Actinide said, and her fellow council members aside from Ratbat nodded in agreement. 

“Set the problem of the Prime aside for a while,” Neutron Star said. “What about Megatron? How I see it he is the most dangerous and unstable of them all.”

This caused silent nodding and gazes across the table, each one heavy with the knowledge of just how much damage and chaos the Kaonian criminal had dealt to their world and people. There was a shared temptation to just give him what he had asked for in his so called defense and execute him.

“He did ask to be executed,” one of the council members needlessly reminded the others. 

“I would not favor that,” said Bitsream suddenly, drawing all the attention to herself. “If the leader of the Autobots won't be terminated, then what kind of a message would the termination of the Decepticon leader send to his former followers, who make up a considerable portion of our population?”

Actinide raised her small servo, a comment ready. “I join Judge Bitstream's opinion. As a former Decepticon myself, I can assure you that that gesture wouldn't be received with joy. A vast majority of the Decepticons are members of the lower castes of the old system, and that clear a move against them and them only would most likely be seen as nothing but the return of the old ways.” 

“So if we choose to consider the public opinion, it's termination to either both or neither,” Neutron Star concluded. He thought the situation was rather ironic: Optimus Prime's complete selflessness would end up saving Megatron's, his greatest enemy's, spark. He kept the bitter joke of life to himself, but wondered what the Decepticon leader himself would make of the situation. 

“So we can't extinguish their sparks,” sighed one of the council members, a pearly white, heavily decorated to the point of fragile appearance, femme flyer called Starlight. “How about a life-time in exile?”

Swift looked extremely grim when he answered: “Does anyone really think it's wise to let Megatron to roam the galaxy freely?” 

The comment was met with a complete silence and the idea was discarded right away, the dilemma still very much present. 

“Well... I think I have good news for you,” said Bitstream suddenly. She was scrolling on her pad and judging by her smile had apparently come across something useful. “We do have one precedent after all. The Red Star.” 

*

The final solar cycle of the trial dawned and the planet was thrilling with anticipation. The final judgments were to be read aloud by the peak of the day cycle and would be streamed live all over the planet. The official guideline was to watch the broadcast on a public screen so their still limited network wouldn't experience too much traffic, but small groups sharing a private screen were encouraged too to avoid unnecessary crowding of public places. 

The official announcement left out the part about the risk of a riot with big crowds in public, but informed about increased security as a slight hint to not to try anything. 

As the appointed announcer Bitstream would be reading the sentences they had arrived at, both for the officers of both factions and their two leaders. All three judges assigned to the case were by law required to participate in writing and editing the final sentence, but the final draft was her responsibility, and the Council along with her fellow judges had all reinforced the sensitivity of the text. She was nervous, but her servos were steady when she opened the file on a pad and began.

“As the appointed announcer I, Judge Bitstream, represent the law and justice of Cybertron. The justice I represent is lawful, just and in service of Cybertronian people, and to you we are accountable.

“In the case of Autobot-Decepticon aggressors versus the people of Cybertron, the court has arrived at the following decision: The highest ranking officers that by the end of the war were part of the inner circle around the leader of each faction are hereby found guilty of all charges including but not limited to: Partaking in violent militant anti-government movement, rioting, mass-termination, possession and use of illegal weapons technology and invasion of foreign space. 

“Each officer shall be sentenced to five centuries of imprisonment, served in a Cybertronian detention institution off-planet. However, as we are now unable to imprison anyone for an extended period of time due to either destruction or lack of maintenance of Cybertronian prison asteroids, we have agreed upon an alternative service method. As we now stand before a new age, a new, better chapter in the history of our civilization, the sentences will be served as penal servitude. Each one of the sentenced shall receive a job assignment, and pay off their crimes with labor with minimum pay. The jobs shall be appointed to you by the Department of Justice and chosen based on your original intended function in order to accomplish maximal productivity.” 

The Judge Neutron Star took the orb and banged it against its plate three times. The sentence was complete and final. There was faint murmuring that ran through the hall, but it never rose high enough to actually need restraining.

Bitstream was switching notes on her datapad, and the two other judges were subtly observing the prisoners they had just sentenced. 

The primary emotion among them seemed to be relief. Especially the Decepticon officers had seemingly expected the justice to be swift and merciless, and now that they were allowed to keep their sparks intact and even their freedom, a few open sighs of relief occurred along with many surprised glances. Even Shockwave and Soundwave who didn't have faces to express themselves with, had mannerisms that were very telling.

The Autobots however were uncharacteristically still and refused to show any sort of emotion, but that sternness was a reaction in itself. It was clear that none of them had expected to be judged as war criminals, at least not beside and at the same level as Decepticons, but all of them also knew complaining now wouldn't help a thing. If anything, making a scene would simply make matters worse.

As Bitstream gazed at them she recalled her own days as an Autobot soldier. She had hated the whole conflict from the beginning: She had been happy with her place in the society back then, and the longer the war had went on the more she had missed the simpler, peaceful times. What kind of people tossed away peace so lightly anyway?  
But she also recalled the pride of other soldiers who had fought by her side, and she definitely recalled how hard the integrating at the Red Star had been for the first couple of thousand orbital cycles. Everyone had been so sure they were right and better than the bots of the opposing faction, and with their absolute convictions had failed to see how they were all wrong.

Also it seemed that this Autobot unit was exceptionally lost without their leader. Bitstream had always respected Optimus Prime, but despite that she had never quite managed to forget where he came from. He had proven to be a good leader and had become an experienced and confident tactician very fast, but Prime was simply a title and would never completely erase his past as a simple clerk in the Iacon archives. Curiously enough, Bitstream was almost certain that Optimus had never wished it to be forgotten either. 

She pulled up the sentence they had agreed upon for the Prime and Megatron and flicked through it quickly. Learning that Optimus and Megatron had had the same ideals in the beginning explained many things. She couldn't help but to feel a small tickle of distaste: Laborers and librarians demanding change and freedom, like they knew everything there was to know about life and were fit to make the choices for everyone else. Now look where that had got them. She was absolutely certain the sentence was just.

“Escort the convicts out,” Swift ordered while gesturing to the guards. “And bring in the bots called Optimus Prime and Megatron of Kaon. We shall declare their sentences in a moment.”

The video feed cut there for a moment, and outsider watchers received an old stock film of an announcer bot calmly requesting a moment of patience while a technical and practical adjustments were made. During the announcement there were frustrated groans and disapproving glances exchanged at public viewing places, but dozens of Decepticons clustered together in the cities, in camps and around make-shift radio transmitters jested together how the break was just in case Megatron wouldn't co-operate. 

Whether that was the case or not would not be commented on, not now or in the future, but the room for speculation was open. Bitstream exchanged a brief glance with Neutron Star, who nodded approvingly. 

The exchanging of the prisoners was a practiced event, and the most important part was to escort the officers away before bringing the leaders in. In the judges' opinion both Megatron and Optimus Prime were capable of sparking a riot, and that outcome would be the last thing anyone needed. 

Bitstream scrolled the text on her pad up. She wondered how the sentence would be received and would anyone displeased with it be patient enough to look up the lengthy reasoning behind it. All were made public, but there was no reasoning with radical individuals. Especially the Decepticons were a worrying bunch. Were Decepticons even familiar with the basics of the Cybertronian justice system and the ethics it followed? Were they even literal? Bitstream realized she didn't know. 

The room was mostly empty for a moment before the guards were back with the two prisoners left to judge. Four guards walked in a square formation and between them, within a respectful (or fearful) amount of empty space, walked first Optimus Prime and right at his heels Megatron. Both had their servos bound together with stasis cuffs that not only limited the movement but also disabled the sizable weaponry they both possessed. 

Optimus Prime looked almost serene as he strode towards the judges' stand and the compartment of the prosecuted. His face was serious but there wasn't a hint of shame, fear or guilt. It was a face of a mech who had accepted his fate whatever it might hold.

The Lord of the Decepticons was like a sign of a storm. If one was to look for guilt or fear in front of the law and justice one wouldn't find it there either, but where Optimus was a picture of serenity, Megatron was ablaze with defiant anger. His steps were heavy and firm, and he made sure to look everyone, the observing council members as well as the three judges, in the optic like that would mean he was in control of the situation. 

Bitstream kept her gaze primarily on the notes before her, but stole a few brief glances at the most dangerous pair on the entire planet as they were guided to stand side by side and receive what was to come. As Bitstream peeked she saw both the warlord and the Prime glancing at each other, but never at the same time. 

The camera operator was gesturing with his servo towards the judges, counting down from four to zero, and Bitstream straightened her spinal strut, ready to declare the sentence.

The zero came, the camera light lit and they were on air again. 

She reset her vocalizer and began again: “As the appointed announcer I, Judge Bitstream, represent the law and justice of Cybertron. The justice I represent is lawful, just and in service of Cybertronian people, and to you we are accountable.

“On the case of Autobot-Decepticon aggressors versus the people of Cybertron the court has arrived at the following decision: The Autobot leader Optimus Prime and the Decepticon leader Megatron are hereby found guilty of all charges, including but not limited to: agitating and encouraging terrorism and rioting, partaking in an illegal political order, invasion of foreign space, and mass termination and destruction of infrastructure necessary for supporting life, among other war crimes. 

“Both Optimus Prime and the Decepticon Warlord Megatron of Kaon are in front of the law equally guilty for the rebellion, the War for Cybertron and deeming this very planet inhabitable. For these crimes this court has decided to sentence both leaders to death.”

The air stood still in the room as Bitstream paused for a mere klik. Megatron didn't flinch, tense up or otherwise visibly react at all, as if he had already expected and come to terms with it. Optimus briefly offlined his optics but no one saw it.

“However,” Bitstream continued with a tone that clearly indicated she wasn't done, “the Council has made a plea and Justice has agreed to it. Enough innocent energon has been spilled, be it from an Autobot, a Decepticon or a neutral by-stander. The death sentences shall be served as life-long servitude for the Cybertronian people and Primus himself. You two led our people to war, and you two shall set an example of how to end it and lead them out of it, into a way of living our lives side by side, Autobot and Decepticon together, and thus six moon cycles from today you shall take vows before Primus to do so.”

The orb hit the table three times and it was settled. The sentence was set and the judges along with the observing council members stood up.

“Justice has spoken. May the people of Cybertron be satisfied with our servitude,” the judges spoke in unison and the session started to disband. The on-air-light on the filming cameras blinked off.

The full meaning of the sentence hadn't completely sunken in when the feed cut, but it was slowly starting to dawn to the bots present, and the moment when it did was truly clear on their faces.

Optimus and Megatron understood their fate approximately at the same time, and neither one dared to look at the other, both fighting to keep their faces expressionless, dentae gritting. The atmosphere of the room was like air before a thunder storm, heavy, and pressuring and everyone half expected it to explode, especially the guards who approached the eye of the storm dreadfully. But nothing happened, everything was eerily smooth and quiet as Optimus and Megatron let themselves be led away from the stand to the back of the room and out, neither saying anything and both staring right ahead with their helms held high, neither looking at the other. There was no dramatics, no yelled threats and no riot. 

The doors shut behind Optimus and Megatron as they were escorted back to imprisonment, to be cast from the minds of the people until the sentence was to be put in action. The wrap-up of the trial was almost anti-climatic.

*

“How in the name of Primus and Allspark is _this_ justice?! What sort of a malfunction has to plague a processor for it to think this up!?” Ratchet yelled in frustration to no one in particular as the Autobots were making their way down the street. They were a wretched looking bunch as they wandered the streets, not really sure where they were going or having fully realized that they were free. 

During the time they had been in custody the city of Iacon had started to rise up all around them, and even though the old road pattern had been kept it was barely recognizable. Roads had been cleared of rubble and some had been newly paved, and buildings were in progress of either rising up or being taken down, creating a strange mismatched impression of lifeless structures sticking out of a living creature renewing itself. 

But construction took time and people needed things now, so roads were lined with all kinds of make-shift buildings serving different purposes: there were tents, shacks and low garage-like buildings, all made up from what was at hand, some in the ruins of long gone buildings and some were cannibalized space crafts that had found a new life on the surface of a planet. 

Most of the establishments were either community shelters or attempting to keep up a business of some sort, and the first thing the former Team Prime was about to do with their freedom in this rather confusing situation was to find a place that sold high-grade.

Ratchet huffed and puffed with barely restrained anger and threw glances at his teammates, none of which seemed to be up for being shocked with him. This didn't stifle Ratchet's wrath though, and he went on. 

“I mean... to declare Optimus guilty for the conflict in itself is absolutely outrageous! He didn't start it! If anything he's been trying to bring an end to it for the past million of orbital cycles! And he's a Prime for Primus' sake, doesn't that mean anything to anyone anymore?!”

A couple of bypassers threw them a curious look and Ratchet turned around as he walked to snap after them: “Yes, you heard me! The last of the Primes has been sentenced to suffer alone for the rest of his existence, only his most hated enemy for company! This is the thanks he gets for leading the autonomous robots against terrorists! Praise the Allspark, the justice has been served!”

“Come on, Ratchet, tone it down,” Arcee said, finally having gotten enough of the dramatics. “We are all upset about this, believe me, but we all are also very tired. We just want to have one drink and find some place to recharge, okay? Think about the younger ones a bit.” She gestured to Bumblebee and Smokescreen trailing behind her, both young mechs unusually quiet and in low spirits, gazes cast to the ground.

Ratchet felt a tug at his spark, but didn't let that show too much. 

“Well, at least they have realized the gravity of the situation,” he said but kept his voice level and left it at that. Arcee rolled her optics behind his back. 

“At least Optimus is okay,” Bulkhead said carefully, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, I thought I was gonna short-circuit when they said they were sentencing him to death.”

“Yeah, he lives to fight another day,” Wheeljack agreed. He was walking next to Bulkhead almost in the front of their little group but a bit apart from the gang, his optics focusing on distant subjects so he didn't see how both Smokescreen and Bumblebee's door wings perked up at his words.

Ratchet however couldn't help himself and scoffed. “Yes, and so does Megatron,” he added with gritted dentae. 

“No one gets everything they want,” Arcee calmly said.”And right now I think we should all focus on two good things: we are all alive and relatively free, and Optimus will pull through as well.”

“She's got a point there, doc,” Wheeljack chuckled and threw a grin over his shoulder to Ratchet, who glared back.

“Hey! There's what we're looking for!” Bulkhead said and pointed at a crude neon sign pointing into a basement establishment.

They all came to a halt and turned to look, and indeed, some very ambitious bot had conquered an old bomb shelter of a basement to themselves and set up a clearly homemade sign made out of sheet iron cut into a shape of an arrow, wire and bright blue glowing hose that was bended to say “bar”. The building above the bomb shelter was a former one, only the low ruins of the first level remaining even though it must have been a skyscraper before the war. The rubble had been cleared out and there was a clear opening to the stairs leading down to a pair of doors to the basement. 

“Isn't that the best thing I've seen in ages,” Wheeljack said and headed to the stairs, all others following him. 

The entrance to the bar was made for the measurements of an average-sized bot, and only Ultra Magnus had to bend down a bit to fit inside. The bar was very modest and half full. There were some actual chairs and tables but none of them matched, and several upturned oil barrels and scrap metal things hastily welded together made up for the lack of proper furniture. There was no real bar counter, just a long board supported on the same type of oil barrels that were acting as chairs elsewhere, and behind it were two bots running the show and their collection of cubes and bottles of high-grade. 

They walked up to the counter and Wheeljack, the ever savvy and street-smart mech, stepped forward. He looked both mechs behind the counter from helm to toe struts once in search of either an Autobot or Decepticon mark, but when he found none simply got down to business. 

“Hi. A cube of whatever you're selling here for all seven of us, thanks.”

“Sure thing, but hold on just a klik,” the bartender said. “What are you going to pay them with?”

Wheeljack shrugged. “Depends on what you're looking for and what we have.”

“Then what do you have?”

“Actually!” Smokescreen piped up and stepped forward, already reaching for his sub-space. “I think I can pay up for all of us. I've had some time to scavenge stuff and I think some of it is useful!”

The bartender looked doubtful but curious as Smokescreen emptied quite the selection of random goods on the counter from his subspace. Wheeljack leaned on the counter and nodded approvingly at the younger mech, probably just content he didn't have to pay, and supervised the deal. There were several less than shiny spare parts such as cogs, circuit boards and gaskets, old rusty cans of oil, joint grease and buffing wax, some paint and a collection of raw mineral chunks. It looked like Smokescreen was about to stock more stuff on the counter when Wheeljack suddenly raised his servo to halt him.

“I think that's enough, kiddo,” he said and turned to the bartender. “That's about it. What is that you need?”

The bartender didn't answer straight away but took his time to pick up and inspect the cans and bottles before setting aside a medium-sized spray can of joint grease, a few gaskets and a handful of minerals.

“I'd say this would do for all seven of you,” he said. “After all the grease is probably as old as your little scavenger, but then again the stuff on the shelf here isn't exactly first-class either. Deal?”

“Deal,” Wheeljack agreed for the group. 

Smokescreen hastily gathered the remaining goods from the counter and stuffed it back to his subspace as the bartender's partner started to fill up cubes for them. Wheeljack took the first cube pushed forward and passed the rest of them to others behind him, with the exception of Smokescreen who picked up two cubes straight from the counter and handed the other one to Bumblebee.

They had to be a bit creative about tables, though. The space was limited and there was no table big enough to host all of them, so they chose one in the back next to the wall, pulled up some more chairs and made a large ring around the table, some of them sitting with their backs against the wall with their cubes in their servos. As they settled down tension that had been winding them up seemed to leave their mechanics, and apart from maybe Ultra Magnus they slumped down a bit on their seats. No one said anything for a while, all just stared down into their drinks, tilting their cubes this way and the other, pondering what had gone into the making of this energon. 

“Well... Uh, this is nice,” Bulkhead hesitantly said, a sheepish smile on his faceplate. “To be back home, I mean. And things seem okay! We'll all get some fitting work to do and this city looks so much better already than it did when we arrived!”

No one else seemed to be up to join his optimism, but the comment prompted some agreeing mumbling and nodding. 

“Yeah... It's nice to see Iacon returning to its old days,” Smokescreen said with an unusually quiet voice, digits tapping the side of his cube and betraying his restlessness. “Sort of, I guess... I mean it'll never be the same again, right?”

Heavy silence fell as no one wanted to agree but couldn't bring themselves to spout out obvious lies either. Wheeljack emptied half of his cube in one go. 

Arcee put her servo on Smokescreen's wrist. “Nothing will ever be the same. We knew it when the war started, but we haven't really had the time or will to think about it until now. I think it's for the best to focus on the fact that we could still be on exodus in foreign worlds with no end in sight, but we're not. At least we're home now, even though it's maybe not the same as it was when we left.”

Her words rang true and peeled the layer of pretended casualty away, leaving an even heavier silence than before. Arcee didn't let that bother her, just gave a reassuring squeeze for Smokescreen before taking the first sip from her cube. 

“I wonder what we'll have to do, though...” Smokescreen continued, and Bumblebee bleeped in anxious agreement. 

Bulkhead jumped the opportunity to lighten up the mood again. “Well you heard the judges! We'll get a job that suits us. In the case of me and Jackie that means construction!” he boasted and hit Wheeljack on the back so hard he almost spilled his energon.

“Watch it, Bulk!” he exclaimed, guarding his drink, and Bulkhead gave an apologetic burst of laughter. 

“But you guys know construction,” Smokescreen continued, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I mean, from even before the war! How about me and Bee? We emerged from the Well during the war! This is the first time we've ever lived normal lives. What are we going to do?!”

Bumblebee seemed torn between pacifying his friend and joining his worries, hastily gesturing at Smokescreen and the rest of them like trying to put out a rapidly spreading fire. “Worrying: Futile. We: will be alright!” he beeped.

“Bee's right, Smokescreen,” Arcee said, making an effort to sound empathetic. “We don't mean to stomp on your feelings, but grieving and worrying about things before anything has even actually happened won't do any good. Don't worry, we won't just abandon you after we get our assignments. We're still a team, and a team works together, even if stationed apart.”

This calmed Smokescreen and Bumblebee both, and they smiled at her, mumbling their thanks. Arcee toasted to their general direction. 

Only one member of their group was still terribly agitated, and Ratchet was about to let them know it: “You speak of a team even though one of us is missing.”

Arcee sighed and turned to look at the older bot, her lipplates in a tight line. “And just when I spoke about worrying about things you can't do anything about, Ratchet.”

“Things!” Ratchet huffed, throwing his servos in the air. “This is Optimus we're talking about! Optimus, who has been imprisoned, got blamed for the war and will be forced to bond with his worst enemy!”

“Yeah, uh, that's the part I'd rather not think about,” Smokescreen awkwardly commented while Bumblebee nodded beside him, clearly sharing his friend's feelings about the sentence. Both turned away when Ratchet threw them a glare. 

Ratchet stewed in his own frustration and anger while the others fidgeted around it. It was usually Optimus who defused situations like this, found a way out of escalating social conflicts and gave the group the feeling of peaceful unity, and now his absence was like a gaping wound no one knew how to tend to. 

“Doctor, as much as I don't agree with the decision of the Department of Justice, I must confess that I do see the logic behind it.” Ultra Magnus, who had been silent this entire time, had finally spoken his mind and drew everyone's shocked and confused gazes to his person. He seemed hardly bothered by this and calmly returned Ratchet's defiant and somewhat disgusted look.

“I'm sorry, Commander, but my audio receptors are not what they used to be,” Ratchet said with a sarcastic chuckle. “You said you think this is sensible?!”

Ultra Magnus refused to be provoked, he simply nodded. “You heard me correctly, doctor. I said I can see the logic and political agenda behind the decision to have Optimus Prime and Megatron officially joined.”

“Well do share,” Ratchet acidly urged.

“They are clearly trying to stabilize our society, and to do that they couldn't afford to take any one side or risk offending anyone. This rules out executing either or both of the leaders of the involved factions, and the official spark bond is a publicity stunt to both symbolize the new beginning and appeal to all groups simultaneously. The means are a bit obsolete, I don't think arranged spark bonds have occurred during the time I myself have existed, even though those have been a norm at some point in Cybertronian history...”

“I don't care about that and don't see why anyone should,” Ratchet snapped. “Am I the only one who understands that Optimus is being locked up with Megatron? For the rest of his existence, possibly?!”

“Come on, Sunshine,” Wheeljack scoffed. “Prime is alive! That's more than anyone could have hoped for, right?”

“Yes, but for how long! Did anyone think about that?!” Ratchet abruptly answered. 

“Optimus can take care of himself, doc!” Smokescreen said, a bit offended by how anyone could even suggest anything else.

“I know that! But he'll have to recharge sometime!” Ratchet shot back. 

“So does Megatron,” Arcee noted.

“We don't know that! All that dark energon and business with other unholy forces... Who knows how much of a normal bot he has left in him?!”

All three, Arcee, Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack opened their intakes ready to argue, but none of them had the chance when they were interrupted.

“Excuse me,” said a vaguely familiar-looking femme who had walked up to them with a friend in tow. “You are Team Prime, am I correct?” 

The group stared at the pair for a moment, measuring them with their gazes and trying to connect names to faces. Then Arcee nodded. 

The femme who had spoken nodded back, threw a glance at her companion and swallowed thickly, clearly anxious. “Me and my partner here wish to speak with you. About... About the fate of Optimus Prime and Megatron.”

“I'm sorry, but who are you two?” Arcee asked, glancing from the nervous grounder to the bulky flyer and back.

The grounder femme reset her vocalizer and exchanged a brief yet meaningful glance with the flyer by her side. “I am Captain Override of the former Autobot warship Red Star, and this is my bondmate Stormsplitter. I think we are to blame for the sentence that was announced today.”


	12. Wish upon a star

After three moon cycles stranded in an asteroid belt surrounding a foreign planet, the energon supplies of the Red Star were running low. Rationing what they had was a given but the daily shares were already at the absolute minimum, and the crew members had crammed the cabins full so the power could be cut off from as many parts of the ship as possible to spare the fuel.

Captain Override had practically moved to live on the command bridge where she sat in the captain's chair right in front of the control panels and stared out of the windshield to the space and at the rows of enemy ships. She had a datapad in her lap where she kept track of any movement outside, mainly about when Decepticons were spacewalking from ship to ship. This was often, but it was quickly proving to be at completely random, which in turn meant that it was not patrolling or anything else army-like activity, and so she along with all of her crew was confused. There were dozens of Decepticon ships out there, but they too were only floating there in a very loose formation and were not firing at the Autobots despite them definitely being in the weapons' range. It was good, because the Red Star barely had energon to keep the passengers fueled up, and the only thing about their weapons that was charged up were the lights that kept up the illusion of the ability to return fire. 

The Decepticon ships however were all brightly lit, to Override's bitter annoyance. They were apparently well stocked with energon and the bright lights were their way of rubbing that in, and with gritted dentae Override had to admit it was working. The stand-off was really grinding in everyone's gears, and by now everyone seemed to know that the Decepticons weren't firing at them simply because they intended to watch from a front row seat as the Autobots slowly starved to termination in their own ship. An absolute victory without firing a shot – how practical and cruel.

It was a late night cycle, at least according to the inner clock of their ship, and Override sat in her chair while the skeleton crew oversaw the ship's systems. There was no need for manning the navigation station or the weapons' controls anymore, and mostly the crew observed and kept the fuel usage as low as possible. 

The only station that was constantly manned was the communications, and tonight there was more than just the silence of space.

“Captain! We're receiving a message,” reported the communication officer Downshift, sounding like he didn't quite believe it himself either. 

That yanked Override out of her meditation-like observation mindset. “A message? From whom?” she hastily asked.   
There was a small twinkle of hope in her spark: maybe some other Autobot fleet was coming, maybe their distress message had been heard after all and they were getting out of there. In that case they'd have to warn their backup of the Decepticons, the large fleet consisting of many small ships would wreak havoc even without the element of surprise - 

“Captain, the message... It's from a Decepticon warship,” Downshift answered.

Everything on the bridge stilled as people looked either at Downshift, who was painfully aware of the staring, or at Override who was standing up without remembering getting up from the chair. 

“Are they hailing us?” she asked.

“No, Captain. There's this message and... uh... Would you like to hear it?” Downshift explained, his gaze darting between the screen and his Captain.

“Please, do read it.”

“Right... Here it comes, everyone: 'To the boss-bot of the Red Star: 'This stand-off will go on forever. There won't be a winner, so let's talk. Hail us. Signed: Decepticon Commander Welder.'”

When the short message was read the crew on the bridge glanced at each other and at the Captain, stunned to silence until someone broke it: “Do they think we'll surrender?!”

A commotion broke out, loud protests and angry remarks drowning each other out, and the volume kept hiking, but the mood was agreeing: No one wanted to give up or turn themselves in. The message the Decepticons had dared to send them was a grave insult to any and every Autobot, and a cruel taunt considering that their means of fighting back were limited and becoming even more so by every passing cycle. 

But there was something left of the deep concentration of Override's watch-keeping mindset, and she replayed the message to herself again. The message was short and very neutral. Her tense and hungry people were easily roused and rightfully so, since there were no good things to be expected of any Decepticon, but for her crew Override was ready to look into this. Everyone was exhausted, and even though it was easy to forget the Decepticons were Cybertronians just like them, they must have been worn down as well. Override looked for that twinkle of hope she had felt at the idea of backup, found a memory of it and held on to that. Hope felt good.

“Hail the Decepticon warship,” Override commanded over the noise on the bridge. Her voice wasn't very loud, but it carried over the fury and effectively silenced it. All optics turned to her. 

“Captain...?” Downshift mumbled, confused and uncertain. He felt the burning looks of others' on him, and that made him doubtful and nervous.

Override raised her bright optic guard and gave Downshift a gentle yet determined look before turning to the control panel in front of her. “Hail the Decepticon warship,” she repeated, “and open a link for me here.”

Downshift nodded and hurried to comply. His digits felt stiff and cold as he chose the frequency and opened the communication line, but his voice was professional when he spoke: “This is the Autobot vessel Red Star, hailing the flagship of the Decepticon fleet, come in. I repeat: This is the Autobot vessel Red Star, hailing the flagship of the Decepticon fleet, come in.”

Everyone on the bridge were silent, anxiously listening, and then a small click from the other end signaled someone had picked up.

“That was fast,” said a stern high-frequency voice. “This is the Decepticon flagship Spark Grinder's Captain speaking. Do I have the Autobot boss there?”

“This is Captain Override,” Override answered calmly. “You wished to exchange words?”

“Yeah, I wanted to talk. This is a bad situation we're in, and I mean for us all. Many vessels of my fleet have hull breaches and extensive engine damage, and we won't be flying those any time soon. Many of my subordinates are wounded and it's only so far our medical expertise goes, so our numbers have dropped too. Simply put, we're stuck. Wanna figure out something else than this standoff until we all offline?”

Override narrowed her optics at the amount of details and information the Decepticon Commander was spilling. Much of that info would be highly tactical for a hostile group, which the Autobots very much were to them, so there had to be more to this.

“That sounds unfortunate to you. Do you wish to surrender?”

The Decepticon gave a short, biting laugh. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Captain. I can tell y'all aren't in a much better shape than us. Or why else would half of your mighty warship be dark and you not firing at us, a sitting target? You're almost out of energon, aren't you?”

Override was quiet. She had considered the Decepticons knowing of their situation, but this didn't explain why they hadn't shot at them. The Decepticon was right, so truth wouldn't hurt much.

“You have guessed right, Captain Welder,” Override responded, drawing many shocked looks from her crew even though they all stayed quiet. 

“We, on the other hand, have all the energon we need and then some,” the Decepticon Captain said.

“Did you call to gloat?”

“If I had, I wouldn't have started that with telling you about my wrecked ships and dying crew,” Welder scoffed. “Nah, I called because you will starve soon, and I don't want to sit over here sipping my full cube of energon while ejecting my dead subordinates into foreign space. I think we can figure something out.”

Override replayed that again. She hadn't heard anything like this of their sworn enemies of a million stellar cycles. “Do you wish to negotiate?” 

“Is that the word you use for us black-mailing necessities out of each other?”

“Exchanging goods without hostilities? Yes.”

The other end of the line was silent for a few kliks, but the Captain spoke again with a voice that lacked all of the previous sarcasm: “Fine then. Captain Override, take a small lifeboat or a vessel like that and pack it with medical equipment, fly it half-way to the no-man's space. I will do the same with a small cargo shuttle full of energon. We will meet and make the exchange. No other bots, no weapons. Let's meet on the first morning cycle.”

“Agreed.”

The line cut. 

Once again the bridge was silent, and all helms turned again to Downshift, who confirmed that the call was indeed over. The communication officer's servo was barely done with the cutting gesture when commotion broke out once again as everyone tried to have their voice heard and question answered first. 

“Captain, you can't possibly - “

“We need those medical supplies too!”

“You can't just believe all that like that!”

“It must be a trap!”

“I won't drink anything that a Decepticon has had a chance to tamper with!”

Override slowly turned around and leaned back against the console. She let her people have their moment of doubt and objection without trying to intervene or calm it down right away, just letting her gaze circulate the room, looking as many bots in the optics as possible, but after a klikcycle or so she finally raised her servo.

“Okay! That's enough, people! Calm it down,” she said without raising her voice but still effectively lowering the volume on the bridge. She looked around, pointedly staring at those who still talked, until everyone was quiet.

“Now... I can see why you are nervous about this,” she began, receiving a few sarcastic tuts which she ignored, “but the offer makes a lot of sense and the risk is rather low.”

“Low?!” the Second in Command Jolt barked. She was a Tygerpaxian, a dynamic and powerful race vehicle bot like Override though slightly taller and missing all the shine and decorative lights. “Captain, even if we can cope with losing medical supplies, we would also risk losing you!”

Override nodded to her Second understandingly. “I can see why you worry, but I am not that important – not to you and certainly not to the Decepticons. I am but one bot, so taking me hostage or terminating me doesn't really move things to any direction. And in the case of my termination the chain of command would just move up a notch, that is all.”

Jolt didn't look convinced or happy with the reasoning, and the rest of the crew seemed to take her side in this. “And what if they don't mean to make the exchange? What if they just want to destroy your shuttle, cut the helm off the frame of their enemy, so to speak, and ignite this stand off? The Con Captain just said she doesn't want to just watch, and even though I respect your good will, ma'am, even you can't deny that the Cons are more known for suicide-esque attacks than peaceful resolutions.”

Agreeing murmur passed through the crowd, but Override was looking at her Second, taking in the fury-laced worry in her optics. 

“I can see your point, Commander,” she recognized, “but if they just wanted to fight, they could fire easily. This little show wouldn't be necessary.”

Jolt shrugged the best she could while standing in attention. “Pure sadism, ma'am?” she suggested.   
That made a lot of sense, Override had to admit that, even though it dimmed the precious twinkle of hope in the spark. These were the facts, and dreaming a hopeful dream shouldn't lead to ignoring those. But being a believer also meant knowing what risks were involved while wishing for the better outcome, and Override had already made her decision.

“It might be, Commander. But it also might not. The chances might be uncertain and not very good, but I'm willing to take them.”

“Captain - !” Jolt tried to interrupt, but Override raised her servo once again.

“How I see it there are three options: I go out there and come back with energon and hope, or I go there and am killed before the Cons attack us and annihilate us all – remember that we are practically defenseless here –, or I do nothing and we perish. I take the action that gives us a chance for survival.”

Heavy silences seemed to be the theme for tonight, and no one had nothing to add anymore. Everyone could clearly see that the Captain had made up her mind and would not falter.

“Captain,” Downshift quietly said while raising his servo like he was in a school room, “the mission status?”

Override gave him a smile. “Call my lieutenants and the Chief Medical Officer here. I'll brief them and they can later brief their underlings. Jolt, you will go down to the cargo bay and choose a lifeboat shuttle for me. Choose one with the most fuel and supervise the loading of the medical supplies. Consult the CMO about what he thinks is needed over there and what we can offer. The rest of you, carry on with your duties.”

Everyone saluted and got to work.

When the right cycle rolled by, only a small team walked Override to the shuttle that had been carefully prepared according to the instructions of the CMO. Most of the crew had found a place on an observing deck to watch the supposed meeting, and the pessimistic crowd that were expecting missiles and enemy fire had clustered on the decks with thicker armoring and had their weapons ready. Jolt hadn't really decided where she should go, but for now she was seeing her Captain to the shuttle.

“I hope you know what you are doing,” Jolt said as Override was about to step into the shuttle.

“I do,” the Captain said, turning to give a calming smile to her Second who looked more than a little anxious. “You have the command until my return, Commander.”

Jolt saluted, Override turned back and stepped into the shuttle, and the airlock door slid closed behind her. Override watched as the cargo bay was cleared while she hooked her internal communication system into the shuttle's and ran a few tests with the flight control. When the bay was cleared, she was granted a permission to fire up the engines and take her leave.

The flight out of the ship and into the mute blackness of space went well, but when the Red Star sealed its door and she was left alone in the dark, the nervousness she had waited for finally hit her. The knowledge of the very real and very likely possibility that this might be her last trip to anywhere became painfully real in a fraction of a klik. She quickly declared radio silence and unhooked herself from the communications so she could cycle air through her vents as heavily as she needed. Her spark was pounding harder and harder by every klikcycle she advanced towards the no-man's space, which also meant advancing the front of the Decepticon ships.

No other ship was in sight. 

Override reached the appointed coordinates strictly in the middle, turned off the shuttle's engines and just sat still, her spark trying to climb up her intake pipe. She glanced at the time, which was over the appointed cycle, and turned to search the other shuttle with her optics. She considered activating the scanners but didn't want to push the uneasy and unofficial truce by looking like a spy.

Finally one of the bigger ships in the Decepticon front opened its shuttle deck doors and a small ship all but bolted out of it. Override tried to shift the focus and zoom of her optics to see the ship better while curiously leaning forward. The ship was fast and agile but also bulky, clearly a cargo ship, and completely colourless aside from a crude hand-painted serial number on its side.

Override watched as the ship flew closer and her spark pounded even harder. Finally the ship was close enough for it to disengage its flight engines and shift to thrusters, which the pilot used to skillfully angle the ship linearly next to the lifeboat and finally to a stop. Override stood up from the pilot chair and walked closer to the air lock when the Decepticon ship hailed her. 

“Hello,” Override greeted.

The Decepticon Captain whose voice Override already recognized didn't bother with casual pleasantries. “This is a Decepticon cargo ship number 14. Pilot Welder asking permission to board an Autobot lifeboat and begin the exchange of cargo.”

“Granted,” Override answered, and the line cut.

The cargo ship's airlock irised open almost immediately and a bot flew out. Welder seemed to possess an airborne altform and was using the thrusters in her legs to guide her across the short distance between their ships. Override heard a heavy thud of a bulky frame bumping against the hull of the ships and opened the airlock, allowing her guest in. 

The first good look Override caught of the Decepticon Captain was just when the airlock pressurized again and the inner door slid open. A modestly painted femme with brown and black highlights on bare gunmetal was taller than Override and definitely wider in all ways. She was nothing like the sleek and slender seekers of Vos the Autobot Captain had seen, but practical, heavy and bulky here, shooting a sharp angle there. The plating that would become the wings of her altform was scattered across her frame and only the tips were clearly noticeably jutting out of her back. Her optics were red and as stern as the expression of her face. 

“You are early,” she said.

Override frowned. “No, you are late.”

The Decepticon scoffed but not with distaste. “I suppose our ships' clocks are not perfectly synced, then. Did you bring the goods?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Yes, my ship is stocked full of energon. I barely fit in. I'm surprised you didn't scan me.”

“I didn't want to test the boundaries of this exchange.”

“Huh. Wise. Well, I have it. But I want to see what you've got before I start to haul that stuff over here.”

“Fair enough,” Override admitted and gestured her guest to the back of the ship where several large containers held the medical supplies. She opened the simple hook-locks on the top container and stepped aside to give Welder room to inspect.

And inspect she did. She went through the whole container, fast and meticulously and not missing a single thing in it. She picked up every instrument, every package of medical-grade power, picked up every single mouthpiece for a blowtorch and checked every tube and syringe. Override didn't interrupt or hurry her, willingly sacrificing time instead of prompting doubts of ulterior motives.   
Finally Welder was satisfied and slammed the container shut.

“I won't go through them all,” she said, and Override was silently thankful. “I hand you that much, Autobot. Would you now help me unload your vessel so we can unload mine, please?”

“Certainly,” Override agreed. 

She had prepared for a clumsy trade made by hand in space, so the containers were already bound together by wire rope, so all they had to do was to find the first one in the rope, push it out of the airlock and herd the rest after it. With one glance Welder realized that this was the case and nodded in apparent approval when Override got to work even though she didn't say anything. 

There was nothing else loose on the ship so Override depressurized the airlock and opened both doors, and in weightlessness they began their work. With her grounder altform Override was mostly useful inside the ship where she could bounce herself from the surfaces, but in the void Welder was superior with her thrusters. 

They worked in silence even though they opened an internal comm line between them. Welder easily took charge and was very content with Override being just a second pair of servos bumping the containers into the right direction and keeping them in order. When after a quarter cycle they made it outside, Override clung to the wire rope between the two last containers and let herself be pulled towards the Decepticon ship. She couldn't help but to throw a brief glance towards the Red Star and wonder how many were standing in the observing decks and watching them. 

Welder tapped in an entrance code on the airlock of her ship and tied the colonna to one of the large handle bars ridging the side of her ship that were apparently made for business like this, and Override pulled herself along the wire rope to the airlock. Welder didn't offer assistance and Override didn't search after any. 

The inside of the Decepticon ship was not much different from any other ship Override had previously seen, but the control panel was smaller and there was no chair for a pilot; as much space as possible was dedicated to cargo. And speaking of cargo, there was a lot of it. For a moment Override could do nothing but stare at the large cubes full of pure blue energon. There was enough of it crammed in the ship that she would probably have trouble getting it all on her small lifeboat, and enough to make a serious difference to their current stock.

“This your first time inside an industrial grade shuttle?” Welder asked, probably mistaking Override's staring for something else than what it was, but the claim was not wrong.

“Yes, actually, it is,” Override admitted, turning her gaze away from the fuel. 

Welder tutted with a lopsided little grin. “Figures. It's not that surprising though, considering your... Bravado.” 

Override didn't immediately understand what the Decepticon meant, until she glanced down at herself and took notice of how different they were. Welder probably meant her dynamic frame and decorative biolights. 

“You from Iacon?” Welder asked.

Override shook her helm. “No, I'm from Crystal City. Why?”

“Well you're not from anywhere I've ever been, fancy femme,” Welder chuckled with a hint of irony. 

Override tensed up again. She had relaxed around the enemy captain somewhere along their wordless joined effort of moving cargo, but now her alert mindset was back as she recognized this line as taunting.

“There's no way for me to know that,” she said and tried to move on to a new subject as fast as possible. “If you don't mind, I too would like to inspect the goods you have brought.”

Welder made a wide gesture with her servo towards the energon cubes. “Suit yourself. I expected as much.”

Override hadn't spoken her doubts on the bridge but the thought of polluted energon was the very first thing that had crossed her mind when the offer had been made. It was so obvious a plot that it would be kind of clever to actually make an attempt to execute it, but then again a natural instinct told an Autobot not to drink anything any Decepticon offered, so maybe not so much after all. Override picked one cube of energon in random, pulled it apart from the pile and set it down. To her surprise Welder walked up to her and pulled a pair of cubes out of her subspace.

“A true Decepticon comes prepared. I guess you want me to taste it with you to ensure we haven't tampered with the stuff, yeah?” she said matter-of-factly.

Override took one cube from the other and nodded. “Precautions. I hope you understand and take no insult.”

Welder scoffed and rolled her optics, then heavily sat down on the floor with her legs crossed. “Of course I get it. Do you think I'm an idiot? I would do the same if an Autobot offered me a convenient pile of fuel.”

Override smiled politely and carefully sat down on her knees in front of Welder who was already opening up the container cube next to them. When the lid was peeled off she gratuitously dipped her cube in the liquid.

“I won't pour your drink to you, Autobot. So serve yourself,” she said.

Override hadn't expected her to, but it still felt odd to drink like this, with no manners or standing on ceremony. “I suppose you don't make a habit of pouring fuel to anyone else where you are from?”

“In Kaon it's every bot for themselves,” Welder stated with a shrug, and Override let the matter be.

When Override had her own cubeful secured in her servos Welder raised her own and dumped half of it down her intake in one go. Override took a careful sip out of her cube. The fuel tasted almost exactly the same as the fuel she had drank for many stellar cycles aboard her own ship, but rich with some mineral she was quite sure she hadn't tasted before. 

Override set her cube back to her lap and looked up to the Decepticon Captain. “What happens next?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what happens after the trade is complete. We're still stranded here, and energon won't last forever. This solves nothing, only postpones the inevitable.”

“You don't do casual dinner chats, do you?” Welder chuckled and didn't seem one bit displeased by the fact.

“My time is limited. My crew wants me back on the ship, and if we keep chatting here until the night cycle, they might conclude you have terminated me.”

Welder threw her helm back and laughed. “And my subordinates think the righteous Autobot Captain is going to arrest me and bring me aboard her ship for execution! Oh, we are a miserable bunch, all of us.”

“You have an idea, don't you?” Override pressed, lifting her cube to her intake again in hopes that showing such trust would mellow the other femme.

“Well, not really,” Welder slowly said. “But all of us remain stranded here, and I must admit that even though I have constructicons, engineers and factory workers, I don't have any rocket scientists aboard so we ain't moving any time soon. Well, maybe by wings of our own but that's stupid and everyone knows it.”

“And?”

“You, fancy femme, have good scientists aboard, don't you?”

Override thought the question over for a klik before nodding. 

“So you might actually fly out of here?”

“Not without fuel, we won't.”

“Ah, now there lies an opportunity,” Welder said with a smirk. “You see, we have ran a few scans and scouting missions. The asteroid field is very mine-able. Some of the planets of this solar system seem promising as well, even though they are lifeless rocks. We have the skill, but not so many able frames or much of equipment. You have scientists, doctors and, I guess, all kinds of fun toys aboard that monstrosity of a ship. Am I correct?”

Override liked where this conversation was going, but she had also learned long ago that things that were too good to be true often weren't. She was ready to give this Decepticon a chance, not her blind trust. “You are not wrong,” she answered. 

“You see? We could help each other. I for one don't want to offline here. I'm sure many bots agree.” 

Override hummed something vaguely agreeing to her cube and turned this idea that was actually bordering to a proposal over in her mind. Could this be? It sounded reasonable and everyone would win, but reason and fairness weren't principles Cybertronians had been operating by for the last eon or so. 

“And you, a proud Decepticon, say your people would just happily go back to mining energon for those who are currently Autobots?” she carefully asked, optics narrowed.

Welder spat in disgust. “Of course we won't! Oh there will be rules, working schedules and prices we will set, Autobot. But we didn't let Kaon or Tarn or Blaster City or Bad Lands or any other Pit to snuff us, and this won't either.”

Override nodded in agreement. It would seem this Decepticon's pride and bravado came with a side of harsh truth. She could work with that.

“I see your reasoning,” she admitted. “Now, before we finish our trade, would you grace me with your real name? I know Welder isn't it.”

For the first time the Decepticon Captain looked surprised, but not for long. Her mouth tightened and an optic ridge rose. “You are aware of my reputation, then.”

“I'm aware, yes. I know your nickname is a fitting one,” Override replied casually, carefully avoiding challenging the other femme with such a personal subject. But she wanted to make a connection, and those were rarely made without a risk.

The Decepticon set her cube down and raised her right arm, and with a hiss her plating shifted and inner parts of her arm reassembled themselves until a large industrial grade blowtorch manifested itself. She turned the crude weapon around as if inspecting it for flaws, and her optics gleamed with something resembling nostalgia. “It was my occupation before the war. I worked maintenance and basic repairs in factories in Kaon and sometimes Tarn,” she told the Autobot, then lifted her cold gaze to her again. “Turns out my little piece of practical equipment is also fitted to burning off Autobot faces.” 

Override didn't let herself react to the taunt, simply returning the gaze. That seemed to be satisfactory to the Decepticon, who transformed her blowtorch back to an arm and said: “My name is Stormsplitter.”

“Nice to meet you, Captain Stormsplitter,” Override greeted. “You already know my name and where I'm from, but not my occupation before the war, so I can return your compliments. I used to be an artist before joining the Autobots and being trained to be a soldier.”

Stormsplitter stared like she wasn't believing what she was hearing. “An artist?” she repeated, openly disbelieving. Override nodded. 

Stormsplitter shook her helm, mumbled something to herself and downed the rest of her cube. “And what kind of art did you practice?” she asked as if she was joking.

Override chuckled to herself a bit before answering. “Mosaics.”

Stormsplitter laughed again.

*

Each and every one around the table was totally silent and concentrating fully on the story Override was telling them. She spun the tale with barely any breaks and painted a clear picture of everything that had happened to her and her crew, a tale about hunger, fear and despair, but of small moments of hope too, about a light at the end of a very dark tunnel that got ever brighter the more courageous the people became. She told of the joined mining operations, engineering projects to upgrade and adapt the technology at their disposal and of a great mutual struggle of people adapting to a new lifestyle.

Stormsplitter was mostly quiet by her side, sipping at her drink and only rarely adding some fact or detail from her side of the story. She and Override were a mismatched couple but everyone around them got the feeling they were in tune with each other. 

“It was after ten stellar cycles we finally came up with the idea of founding a colony,” Override explained, finally arriving to the point. “But up until that point the coexistence of Autobots and Decepticons were driven by mutual needs and strictly shared benefits. Our people -” she gestured between herself and her partner “ - lived separately. But to be a colony meant we needed to move on to the next stage.”

“It was not our idea,” Stormsplitter said. Override turned to her with a questioning look on her face, and the aerial specified: “Becoming bondmates was not our idea. It was a purely political move from the politicians aboard the Autobot vessel.”

“Yes, so it was,” Override admitted a bit reluctantly. “They thought bringing back an archaic method of making bonds, a fundamental one, would help the transition go smoothly. So we agreed. And here we are. The precedent of today's sentence.”

She was done telling the story and leaned back on her stool, downing her drink in one go into her dry intake. A trance seemed to break when she finished, and everyone suddenly noticed how they'd been leaning forward and onto the table, and sat back again. 

“Well... That shed some light on things,” Arcee said in order to fill the silence, saying what she believed they all were thinking.

“Yeah, that's all great and all, but... Did it work?” Smokescreen asked a bit too eagerly, curiously glancing at both Override and Stormsplitter, who in turn glanced at each other. 

Something passed between the two femmes, and a small smile was shared. 

“I suppose it did,” Override said with a coy shrug. Stormsplitter chuckled quietly behind her cube. 

“Well that's great, but it doesn't mean it will work in this case,” Ratchet grimly muttered. He had barely touched his high-grade, choosing to simply tilt the cube this way and that, sloshing the fuel around inside it. 

“Doc has a point,” Wheeljack said. He was measuring the couple as well, and didn't bother to be subtle when glaring at Stormsplitter. “This is Optimus Prime and Megatron we're talking about. And the higher-ups think it's a good idea to lock them up together? They'll terminate each other within a week!”

Override frowned. “I personally would give Optimus more credit than that.”

“As would I,” Stormsplitter joined in, taking everyone aside from her partner by surprise.

“You, a Decepticon, would place faith in an Autobot Prime?” Ratchet said, a disbelieving laugh shaking his voice. 

Stormsplitter smirked and shrugged. “Why not? We live in interesting times.”

“We sure do...” Ratchet had to admit. He would have picked different words, ones that would better verbally address the bitter taste in his intake and give form to the dread he felt, but decided to wash those down with high-grade instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! Here's a chapter shedding some light on recent events. Thank you for all your kudos and comments! I'll be answering your comments soon. :)   
> I have to say I enjoyed writing this chapter and did so without the overwhelming preassure that is NaNoWriMo, probably because I was pumped about having this level of freedom and originality in this fanfic. 
> 
> So far this is the only flasback chapter, though, and next time we'll be back with the main cast of characters. And there will be, ahem, bells and rice, so to speak~


	13. Standing on ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! After all this time, it's finally here! The wedding!!   
> I have to mention that the very first sentence of this chapter has been written down for over two years, before I had even begun to write this thing. It just came to me immediately as I got the idea for the "arranged marriage" -idea.
> 
> Hello, dear reader, and let me say how happy I am that you've read this far. I hope it's been worth it. In this chapter I especially loved to write Optimus' lines. He's a person too, you know, and with a bit less responsibility he lets it show. ;))  
> Some of you lovely commentors have mentioned you like Optimus and Megatron together, and I can promise there's definitely some of that in this chapter as well as in the future ones!
> 
> Thank you for opening this fic, I hope you have fantastic time reading this. If you like this, make sure to click that kudos-button, and if you want to boost my writing morale you can also leave a comment.

The first outsider bot who realized joining Optimus Prime and Megatron together just might be a bad idea was the poor mech whose job was to take them through the rehearsal. It had been another six moon cycles since the trial and the peak of public interest and gossip mill was past, and so the Department of Justice had decided it was an appropriate time to set a date and start planning the bonding ceremony.

Multiple politicians, anthropologist and experts on spirituality along with publicists and anyone with any skills in creating and spreading media had been involved, but neither Optimus or Megatron were really informed about this. They had spent all this time imprisoned, cut off from all news and mostly other bots too, their only contacts being the guards who brought their energon. The date of the ceremony was set two weeks ahead when they had been granted temporary parole that involved mostly two things: being brought up to date and stuff like the rehearsal. 

The temple built in Primus' honor had suffered massive damage from the bombings, but its repairs were progressing and the work was paying off. Everything hadn't been completely trampled to the ground: some of the large supporting arcs had survived, as had one of the walls with most of the art on it, and by now other walls had been built again, some art had been recovered and renovated, and only the roof was still under construction, a large tarpaulin still doing the job.

There were many carefully selected people involved in this, but still the rehearsal conductor was certain he had the very worst job of them all. There were guards present, but they didn't get him out of the social aspect of the situation: Optimus had an overwhelming presence that radiated displeasure that made him skittish, Megatron simply was absolutely terrifying, and the conductor was stuck in between them while trying to keep his thoughts together and get through the day.

“Right... So, when you walk in you won't be escorted but there will be guards as well as cameras. You'll be filmed from... uh...” He scrambled for his datapad and notes, checking quickly. “From four directions, one by the door, one from close by the altar and two from the balcony.” He showed the places with his servos even though the two mechs were barely paying any attention to him. In fact Optimus and Megatron were completely in their own private bubble, engaging in an unblinking staring contest that weighed like a promise of a thunderstorm.

“Gentlemechs, please... Let's try to focus on the ceremony,” the instructor tried to say. 

“Yes, do continue,” Optimus urged him, his voice calm and level but icy beyond belief. 

“A-hem... So, you will walk together up to the altar, where you will kneel. Optimus on the left, Megatron on the right.” He stepped aside to gesture at the low table in the middle of the altar behind them with two seating pillows on both sides. “There will be a bottle of sacred oil there with two goblets – or cups or cubes, depends on what we can find. None of the old goblets have been found so none probably made it through the war -”

“Of course not,” Megatron interrupted, “this materialistic spiritual nonsense means nothing to Decepticons. We melted all titanium we could find when we raided the temples.”

“How noble,” Optimus mumbled sarcastically under his breath. Megatron bared his dentae at him.

“Right, right! Then some cups. Anyway, back to the ceremony... You will have your vows prepared beforehand, and as you recite them you pour your oppone- uh... The other one's cup full. Then you say the final prayer together and drink your cups to the bottom. Then you rise up, take each other's arm and step down from the altar as an officially bonded pair.”

He looked up at both mechs, expecting questions and met their optics. Optimus was distant and seemed to be behind an invisible barrier, while Megatron was openly displeased with everything. He leaned down towards the instructor, who in turn leaned back, and snarled: “I resent this farce the Council has put up, I disdain this propaganda, and I despise you.” 

“Can you once in your life just bite your glossa and cooperate?” Optimus sighed with a sour expression. “Our instructor here is just doing his appointed job.”

“It's Downshift,” Downshift said for the third time that afternoon. Neither one recognized that he had spoken and he shook his helm, again doubting if going back to his old profession as a priest had really been a good call. 

“Well his appointed job means as much as a rusted pile of scrap to me!” Megatron snapped at Optimus, who rolled his optics almost dramatically. 

Downshift threw a nervous glance at the guards who were a good distance away, all the way at the back of the temple, and hurried to defuse the situation: “Alright! Let's get back to business, shall we? We're almost done here! Right, the vows... Um... This isn't really a traditional situation so what I usually should say about vows given to one's conjunx doesn't really apply here...” 

“I vow I will widow myself when you recharge,” Megatron spat at Optimus, who mumbled back something that sounded awfully lot like 'not if I get to you first'. 

“Okay, let's not do that, alright? The Department of Justice wished you to come up with vows that are honest but proper.”

“So we get to actually write our own? The High Council isn't seizing our voices?” Megatron confirmed, clearly disbelieving. 

Downshift nodded. “This is a legal sanction ordered by the Department of Justice. It's not personal, and it's for the common good.”

“I do not recognize your state or your law,” Megatron growled down at the mech, who couldn't think anything to say.  
Luckily Optimus seemed to have all too much to say: “You are a murderer, Megatron. Your word is worthless to them! This is your well-earned punishment, now please mute it and take it.”

“And you! _You_ I despise the most! No one buys this facade of yours, so you should act like a real person for once and stop pretending!” Megatron snarled at Optimus, who kept his chin high and pointedly refused to look the other in the optic.

“And pray tell, what am I doing now that agitates you so much?” Optimus asked.

“You act like you don't care! And believe me, as much as I know you love sticking your neck out for others I know you hate this as much as I do!” Megatron shot back, his upper lipplate drawing back to show as much sharpened dentae as was physically possible. To Downshift it looked like it was more than that.

“And if you think very hard, you might realize why that is,” Optimus scoffed with a gentle voice that barely covered his true emotions. 

“Turn your hate towards your precious Council if you're not too blind already,” Megatron spat. 

“Oh, I see clearly enough, it's just you who refuses to accept the point of view of anyone who doesn't agree with you! You cling on to your violent ways even though the war is over! It's a new era now, and we shouldn't even be alive to see it. This is an opportunity to make amends, and the decision isn't up to us anymore,” Optimus said with a voice that struggled to stay level.

“Termination would be better than this!” Megatron snapped.

“I agree,” Optimus coldly remarked.

“See, you agree on something!” Downshift desperately intervened again, getting a pointed look from both mechs. “Now please, can we get back to the vows? The High Council only wishes them to be about unity. All else is up to you, but please, no death or murder or... Or any of the past grudge! Just a good example to others, okay?”

“A good example,” Megatron mockingly mimicked. “And will we be this well decorated when we actually perform this ridiculous piece of propaganda?” He lifted his servos and rattled the stasis cuffs. 

“Ah... No, you will be escorted here and out, but will not be cuffed,” Downshift said with a smile that made his faceplate hurt. “After the ceremony you will greet the people for a cycle or so, then you will be escorted to your residence in Iacon where a house-arrest will come into effect and continue until further notice.”

“Great, Iacon of all places,” Megatron grunted to himself, and as Optimus elected to ignore the remark, Downshift followed his example. 

“Now, after the ceremony you are expected to live together but no one will require or supervise the night after, and the actual bonding is not expected from you... officially, that is,” Downshift said while staring at the datapad. 

“You're in luck, Prime. I'd tear your spark out,” Megatron chuckled with a cruel smirk. Optimus didn't answer but gave an exasperated sigh to signal just how tasteless he found the remark.

“Right... I think we're all done here,” Downshift hurried to inject. “Any questions?”

“None,” both mechs answered in unison. 

“Great!” Downshift squeaked, gesturing for the guards to come and release him from the predicament. 

 

The following two weeks were filled with heated discussion and gossip across the entire planet. The communication network was still weak from the lack of support stations and vulnerable to system overload, but people still found a way to keep the word moving and fast. An unforeseeable good thing that came out of that was that clusters of gossipers didn't bother to discriminate as long as you had good information, and street-corners, bars and marketplaces were full of little groups with completely random make-up, showing how a tasty piece of gossip could bring people together like nothing else.

Not that either Optimus or Megatron would know of this since they were both doing their last two weeks of time in the holding cells aboard the Red Star. They had been both issued with a datapad to write down their vows down on, but no other changes had been made. They had been briefed, but were not allowed any news sources, online connection or any other contact to the outside world.

It could have been boring, but the vow turned out to be much more difficult than Optimus could have imagined, as he noticed when he was once again left alone with his thoughts and a theoretically simple duty. As much as he hadn't and still didn't look forward to writing the vow and being bonded to Megatron, he hadn't imagined it would be this hard. He didn't have the slightest idea what he should put down on the pad.

He wanted to be honest but positive, hopeful and inspiring but also genuine and believable. His people wouldn't find any help or comfort in blatant lies, and by now there was not a single spark alive anywhere in the universe that didn't know just how deeply Optimus and Megatron despised each other. And knowing that, Optimus didn't have any idea what anyone expected him to say on the appointed date. 

He stared down at the empty pad for cycles on end, and his thoughts wandered. He tried to imagine what Megatron would put in his vow. The warlord was definitely good with words, had been since the beginning, always able to spin a tale that showed things in a light that made him look good and would benefit him, but Optimus couldn't bring himself to believe Megatron would see any other option as preferable as sparking the war anew. Could that be accomplished with a simple bonding vow?

But mourning things that hadn't happened yet wouldn't help him through his current trial. The vow was still nonexistent, and coming up with something was his first priority now. Cybertronian people needed this union as a beacon for the new age, and the fate of a Prime was to give it to them. Become a light. 

Optimus concerned himself with the common good and was ready to carry the mantle of a Prime still, even though Megatron was selfish and probably still not done with his war-waging and revenge on something he himself probably didn't even bother to name anymore. The thought weighed in Optimus' chassis and made thinking hopeful thoughts of a brighter future even harder. 

So Optimus pushed aside all his personal feelings about this, refused to worry about his team – his family – for now, and focused on his task. He had spent a good deal of his existence in the Grand Archives, and despite being just a clerk, read a great deal of all kinds of things. He hadn't attended that many bonding ceremonies, but had heard and read enough vows to have a working understanding of them as a category of texts. All he had to do was to think about the bright future and be honest. 

But even though Optimus recognized this, writing his vow took him almost a week, and the other one he spent changing the little details, uncertain what word would be the best and which section would be better to come first and so and so on. 

Luckily for him, after two weeks the appointed day came, signifying a whole other load of worries than the form of his bonding vow.

In the morning two guards came to Optimus' holding cell and informed him they would escort him to a transport vehicle. Without a word Optimus rose from his place and went with them. He had barely recharged the night before, and was curiously numb. Thankfully neither of the guards felt the need to make small talk with him, and so they walked the quiet corridors of the ship in silence all the way outside, where a large transportation vehicle with narrow tinted windows was waiting for them. Four other guards nodded in greeting to the ones escorting Optimus, who was absently wondering was this clearly new and shiny vehicle built by hand or was there a factory for these already. One of the guards opened a side door for Optimus, who had to bow his helm a bit to fit inside, and closed it after him.

Megatron was already in the vehicle and didn't turn to look when the door opened. Optimus reluctantly took his seat next to him, reasoning he would as well start getting used to his company since he'd enjoy quite a lot of it in the near future, starting from now. 

Megatron apparently had no such plans, as he simply stared ahead with his chin up, face a stern mask and didn't even glance at Optimus, who stared only long enough to assess the situation. Both of them were stasis-cuff-free just as promised, but he also noted that the fusion cannon on Megatron's arm was missing. 

The vehicle yanked into movement and they made their way from the plateau through the city and towards the temple. Through the tinted windows they could see the crowd gathered on the streets, curious and desperate to get a glimpse, but Optimus wasn't thinking about them, he was looking at the buildings. Iacon certainly had changed during the past stellar cycle from the sad ruin it had been, but it was also very different from the picture he had in his memory. No building or street corner looked like in his memories, and there were still ruins here and there, but lesser so the closer they drove to downtown, and even though different it was still Iacon. It was home, long gone but suddenly here again. Changed, but same in spirit. Emotions welled in Optimus' spark and suddenly he felt old.

The vehicle stopped in front of the temple and just before they stepped out it, Megatron spoke his first words to Optimus: “Don't look straight to the camera.”

“I know that,” Optimus answered, but the other was already out. He sighed, then took a deep calming invent of air and followed. 

A large area around the front steps of the temple had seen secured so they could walk into the temple without trouble, but you could still see and definitely hear the crowd. Optimus didn't waste any time staring or really noticing the audience, but rather glanced the situation over out of an old habit on his way up, just a few steps behind Megatron. He couldn't pinpoint the general tone of the noise made, was it mere clapping or aggressive stomping, approving or protesting, he denied himself an opinion about the preferable option, even if he had the time to wonder if in case of a riot the ceremony would be postponed. But delaying the inevitable had never accomplished anything else but making the inevitable thing harder to face, and Optimus simply reminded himself that his personal opinion on this wasn't required. 

Then he stepped into the cool quietness of the temple, and all his racing thoughts vanished. There was still no roof, and the bright sunlight that filtered through the cover was dim, leaving the temple almost totally without natural light. It was far from dusky, however, as the entire inner hall from the floor to the highest arch was lit up in Primus' honor. Long threads of tiny lights were wrapped around the pillars, beautiful lanterns made of blown glass and crystals hung from the arcs, illuminating their surroundings with colours as they slowly spun around, and the way through the temple to the altar was lit up with long glowing lines, entwined into each other. The whole temple bathed in red, purple, blue and white light. 

Optimus was only stirred from his stunned admiration when Megatron bumped his elbow into his side, reminding that they had a part to play. Optimus turned his helm and found that the other mech still refused to make optic contact but was offering his arm. After a klik of hesitation Optimus linked their arms with as little touching as possible, striving to keep their distance and encourage Megatron to stay calm and go through this. The sides of their forearms barely touched, and Optimus settled his servo very lightly on the top of Megatron's. The back of Megatron's servo felt cold and the knuckle joints pressed against his palm, but the warlord didn't shake it loose, and Optimus chose to take that as a good sign. 

“Shall we go, then?” Optimus muttered from the corner of his intake, watching the other on the side of the field of his vision. Megatron gave one short nod of his helm, and then they took the first step forward, almost but not quite in sync. 

After that difficult first step the rest of them were lighter. Both of them stared only ahead, not seeing any cameras but knowing they were there, keeping their gazes fixated only at the altar that was lit brighter than anything else in the temple. The narrow steps of the altar had not been built with bots of their size in mind and both of them could step with just the tip of their pedes, while both refused to take support in one another despite their linked arms. Thankfully there were only four steps, and then they parted ways to kneel on the opposite sides of the low table. 

As promised there were indeed sitting pillows, but judging by how it felt under him Optimus guessed they were not stuffed with glass wool as the tradition dictated, but with non-conducting foam or whatever was left over in construction sites. On the table there was a tall bottle of sacred oil, but no goblets – they hadn't managed to find any at all it would seem – but two crude cups hastily carved out of gem-veined stone. 

Admiring the table set couldn't go on forever, and Optimus had to raise his gaze up to Megatron. Finally their gazes locked. Optimus got a feeling that the other had been observing him for a while now, and he wished his expression looked as peaceful as Megatron's was cold. The Kaonian was unreadable, cold but definitely present and anything but indifferent to what was happening, but Optimus didn't detect anything he had gotten used to seeing during the war: No rage, no battle-lust, no prideful display. The foreignness of it worried him. 

Megatron raised his optic ridges at him and threw a quick glance at the bottle of oil on the table. Optimus realized he wanted him to start. His servo was steady but numb when he reached out for the bottle and began to fill Megatron's cup. He watched the thick liquid pour out in a deep black ribbon, and started to tilt the bottle upright before the cup was even half full. The thread thinned and thinned until it snapped, the last drop of oil falling into the cup, stirring the surface before it stilled into a black mirror. 

Optimus set the bottle down on the table, put his servos on the table palms up, mentally said a prayer and began to recite his vow: “We stand on the brink of a new era. An era we, Autobot and Decepticon, shall bring about together. For this I, Optimus of Iacon, will join you, Megatron of Kaon, to unite our people. You have my faithfulness and my patience. Until all are one.” 

A hunch of a smile tugged at the corner of Megatron's intake and his optics narrowed briefly showing exactly what he thought of Optimus' vow. He didn't say anything but reached for the bottle in turn, handling it surprisingly well considering how ill-fitted it was to his servos. One servo on the neck of the bottle and the other one on its bottom he poured the cup in front of Optimus full to the brim, and settled it down again paying no mind to a narrow thread a spilled drop left behind as it ran down the side of the bottle.

Megatron spoke his vow like one of his speeches, slow and articulated: “The time for picking up arms is over. It's time for forging new ways, an honorable task we now face side by side. I, Megatron of Kaon, join you, Optimus of Iacon, for this task. You are the keeper of my labor-worn servos and my fury. Until all are one.” 

They bowed their helms at each other slowly and never breaking optic contact, both carefully making sure they wouldn't bow any lower than the other. Then they gathered their cups in both their servos, brought them almost to their face level and said in unison: “Until all are one.” 

They tilted their cups and drank them to the bottom. Optimus found an old nervous part of himself hoping he wouldn't inhale the liquid into a wrong pipe, commanded himself to stop worrying about things like that and reflected instead on how strange their voices had sounded in unison. 

After the cups were empty they lowered them back on the table, face down. They rose up from the floor together, circled the table and wordlessly linked arms once more. Outside they could hear a distant roar of noise, like the waterfalls on distant worlds they had encountered during their exodus. They stepped down from the altar, and a bot they hadn't noticed at all during their ritual stepped in front of them.

“Two have become one today. May your union last and prosper and honor Primus until the day you join the Allspark,” Downshift blessed them and greeted them with a bow. 

Out of obligation, Megatron and Optimus bowed in return. 

“Right this way,” Downshift added in whisper and gestured towards another staircase that lead to a balcony one level above them. He escorted them to the staircase but stayed behind as they stepped up. 

Halfway up, Megatron leaned slightly towards Optimus and muttered: “I do hope you don't think this changes anything between us.”

Optimus kept his chin up and optics forward. “I know so already. This has nothing to do with us.”

Megatron huffed with disgust. “Always so proper and obedient, aren't you.”

“As you are selfish and belligerent,” Optimus responded quietly.

“Oh, look at you and your long words, Prime! You don't think a lowly being like me understands those.”

“Communicating is the primary purpose of language. Why would I talk to you if I didn't know you understood?” Optimus mumbled through a tightened polite smile. 

They came to the upper level and stepped into the bright sunlight of the balcony. Their optics needed a moment to adjust their sensors to the conditions after the dark and artificial lights of the temple, but shortly they both could see the vast crowd greeting them. The front of the temple was still cleared, but the network of streets from there were packed with people, the neighboring buildings had people in the windows and they were all making noise. Servos were raised in the air, lights were bright and blinking and visible even in the daylight, and people were blaring their sirens and horns in a thunderous cacophony of sound. 

“You fool, we are supposed to greet them,” Megatron hissed from the corner of his intake to Optimus, who had been momentarily stunned in wonder of the display before him. Megatron gave his arm a demanding yank, and he remembered his place once again. They turned to the left and slowly bowed to the people, this time deeper and longer than they had during the whole day. They turned to face forward and repeated the same gesture, then turned right and did so once again. They bowed in three directions in this order four times in total, arms linked, shoulders together and their movements in sync. 

“Prime. Raise you arm with me,” Megatron slipped from his intake.

Optimus was about to glance at him but caught himself just in time. “Why?” he quietly asked.

“Just do it. Two are standing, aren't they? It's a celebration,” Megatron answered with an impatient tone that most likely wasn't reflected on his face at all. 

Optimus considered this. The request along with the roaring noise of a celebrating mass of bots was bringing back very old memories from eons ago. The memories included smells of burning oil and rubber, spilled energon and home-brewed high-grade, clangs of swords and battle-axes and rhythmic chanting of the names of victors. 

“Very well, then,” Optimus agreed, and was lifting his servo before Megatron even knew it. 

Megatron noticed fast enough, and grasped a hold of Optimus' servo as they extended their arms above their helms, servos joined. Optimus rose on the tips of his pedes so they both could straighten their arms. 

The reaction from the crowd was instant. A new wave of roaring noise spread through the mass, and Megatron chuckled out loud. 

“See? A bit of control over our own decisions is very appealing,” Megatron said with a hint of smugness.

“This isn't the official etiquette,” Optimus muttered back even though he had agreed to it. He wondered though if his refusal had made any difference. The way Megaton was crushing his servo in his hold told him no. 

“Mute it and live a little,” Megatron hissed back. “While you still can, I mean. Do you know what a cage-match is?”

“A match in a cage?” Optimus dryly suggested. 

“Very funny, Prime,” Megatron chuckled, hardly hiding his mockery. “It's what we have ahead of us. Do you think you can make it with nowhere to run?”

“You just took a vow in which you stated that 'the time for picking up arms is over'. You are a mech of your word, aren't you?” Optimus mused.

“I will terminate you with my bare servos,” Megatron grunted.

Optimus sighed but kept his serene facade on, gaze sweeping over the cheering, celebrating crowd. “The war is over. Look at them, Megatron. They are hopeful. Why would you take that hope away from them?”

Megatron leaned closer and turned his helm slightly so his exvents hit the side of Optimus' helm. His servo squeezed on Optimus' as if he was really going to crush it. “I took another vow a long time ago. I will exterminate you, Optimus Prime.”

For a brief moment Optimus let his optics fall offline and a long, exhausted sigh escape him. “Just let them savor the victory for a while longer, Megatronus. You and I have waited this long. We can wait a while longer.”

He didn't receive an answer, and Megatron didn't speak to him again that day.


	14. The necessary arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, my dear readers! I must apologize for my lack of replying to your comments, but I assure you I read and cherish every single one of them and plan to respond in the near future!
> 
> This is a chapter is about clearing the fallout of the war court. It turns out that the world keeps turning no matter what, and people can be left behind.
> 
> I am pleased to inform you that the next chapter is already edited, so the break will be shorter this time. <3  
> Enjoy!

Due to the lack of appropriate law professionals the confidential job of formally contacting and instructing the newly judged war criminals was passed on to a recommended bot with experience as a social worker. It was a delicate job and involved contact with both Autobots and Decepticons, including not only the officers but the leaders as well. 

It wasn't a task anyone particularly wanted, but the Council and the Department of Justice placed deep trust on Override, and Downshift could hardly turn down a request from his Captain. That was how he found himself with a ton of paperwork and instructions for each and every one's personal information, contact information, working assignments and contact personnel's contact information, and schedules for visitations of the newly wedded leaders. It was a lot of information to take in, and some of it was inconclusive due to the lost records during the war or the information in question not existing in the first place, which was the case with several Decepticons and some Autobots.

Downshift was nervous. He had already met Megatron and Optimus Prime and he wouldn't have objected if that had been the last time, which it wasn't, and he wasn't too eager to work with their officers. He had extensive experience with social work, but he had a feeling these would be his hardest cases yet. 

He was to start in early cycles, before the dawn. Optimus Prime and Megatron were transported to their new residence quietly during the night to avoid commotion, and Downshift was on the same ride. They were taken in a windowless transport vehicle from the Red Star to the eastern edge of the Iacon Downtown where a new tower block had been built for mostly maintenance and storage purposes. 

Iacon's city plan had remained almost the same when the rebuilding went on, the road network being the best survived part of it, and thus building around it was easy. The large multi-lane main roads and railways needed a lot of work but they were there, and the structure of business and trade districts, governing and economy districts and large working districts here and there plus the blocks for apartments was only logical to recreate for basic functionality. 

But Iacon was larger now than it had been before, like Downshift could clearly see when they drove from the Sea of Rust to the city and had to navigate through the new suburban area that surrounded Iacon from the south side in a shape of a half circle. Tall modest looking buildings made out of lightweight concrete blocks had served the purpose of emergency housing so the people could move out of the refugee camps, and now they had formed an entirely new part of the city that was technically Iacon even though it didn't have a name or a part in the general design yet. 

The city was looking much better, mostly due to the mostly restored electricity network that made streetlights possible once again. Fresh, deep black road was smooth and comfortable to drive on, almost a luxury after all the stellar cycles in foreign terrains and hostile grounds.

The tower building they arrived at two cycles before the dawn was the tallest building in the district and chosen for its purpose because of this. The purpose was for the most parts to act as a hardware storage space for a wholesale working in the bottom floor, rented office space and a support station for a local information network and communication services, but the third highest floor was built for living purposes, and that was were Optimus Prime and Megatron would be staying. 

They parked in the subsurface cargo hall, the guards released the two convicted mechs from the back of the vehicle, and it was Downshift's turn to step in.

“Good morning, sirs,” he began as his newest clients (or charges, in this case) stepped out of the vehicle, both silent and pretending the other one didn't exist. “This is the building you are to live in. I am your contact bot, Downshift, due to the permission of the Cybertronian Department of Justice, and I will be giving you all the information you want, briefing you for the details of the service of your sentence and supervising your outside contacts. Please follow me, and I'll show you the elevator and your apartment.”

Neither one of the mechs said anything, and for that Downshift was grateful. They walked through the empty hall to the elevators and stepped in. Downshift pulled a set of four keycards out of his subspace.

“These are the keys to your apartment level. You will be given three, the fourth is mine. You need this both in the elevator to access your apartment floor as well as the front door.”

He showed how the keycard worked and pushed the button of the third highest floor, and the elevator yanked to movement. The rise up was smooth but awkward and long, and Downshift wished with all his spark the elevator would move even a tiny fraction faster. 

After a long rise the elevator bell rang, the doors slid open, and they stepped into a gloomy staircase. 

“This is the fire escape of the building. Through this you can access all the levels above and below, but you are not allowed to leave your apartment without permission.” He pointed at the corners of the floor they were at, showing the security cameras. “Your apartment is not wired, but this staircase is supervised with a recording camera system.”

Neither one of his charges made a comment and so Downshift walked to the only door on the level, swiped the keycard and the door slid open. They stepped inside, Downshift first and Megatron last, and the door closed. 

Downshift led the two mechs inside through a short corridor and inside the main room of the apartment, stopped and turned around to face the pair. “This is your new, official home. There are three rooms, a kitchen and a wash-rack. We are now standing in the largest room, the kitchen is to the right – my right, that is – and the berthroom and the other room are on the left.”

He paused for a moment to give an opportunity to ask questions, but Optimus just politely nodded while gazing around, and Megatron stared ahead like a prisoner in an execution row. 

Downshift reset his vocalizer and pulled out his datapad and checked his notes. “Alright, then. Now, as you know already, you are under a house arrest and are not to leave this apartment without an authorized exception. You will be supplied energon and other goods once a week according to your own instructions from an approved list you will find on your computer. You have free computer access but no unsupervised contacts or connection to the Grid. Now, to the details of the serving of your sentences, they are partially joined with your officers, so about visitations -”

“Visitations?” Optimus cut in.   
For some reason hearing just one of them talk like a normal bot made Downshift relax. He smiled.

“Yes. The full list of your charges you were convicted for as well as the procedure of the sentence are completely public, you see the Council wishes to be fully transparent in a delicate matter like this, and the point of this is rehabilitation.”

Megatron twitched ever so slightly, his optics narrowing a bit but he didn't say anything or avert his gaze from the fixed point he had chosen.

Downshift felt the nervousness return as he happened to think he was trapped in a concealed space with the mad warlord of Decepticons, but pressed on nonetheless, clutching on his datapad and his professionalism. “Helping in the process of rehabilitation is a part of the sentences of all your convicted officers, and thus one of them will visit you once a week according to an approved schedule that has been delivered to both of you and will be found on your computer as well. Questions?”

“Yes,” Optimus suddenly said. “Who are the first visitors?”

Downshift was happy he was asked something and had the excuse to look down at the pad again. “Let's see... Two weeks from now is the first scheduled visitation, and your first visitors are... Your Second-in-Commands, Ultra Magnus of Praxus for you, Optimus, and Starscream of Vos for you, Megatron.”

Saying Starscream's designation was almost painful to Downshift and he didn't dare to look up from his pad to anywhere even near Megatron's general direction when he said it. It was no secret how much Megatron despised his own Second-in-Command, or how obviously mutual the feeling was, and Downshift genuinely feared that hearing his first contact to the outside world apart from his mortal enemy would be the mech he despised more than anything would be it for Megatron's already straining self-control. The moment was and passed, and Downshift almost sighed in relief when his helm stayed on his shoulders.

“Alright then,” he said with a tense smile. “One more thing. As you are now officially... Bonded, the Council has expressed their wish that you keep this up and show a good example to the rest of the planet. This means that some time from now, when things have been sorted out a bit more, you need to be seen together in public.”

There was a moment of heavy silence. Downshift's smile grew even tighter.

“Excuse me?” Optimus said as politely as he could manage, but came across so cold that in a moment Downshift knew why the enemy feared the Prime in battle so much.

“Yes. You will- _are wished to go_ to places together from time to time. Not in a while yet, don't worry! But eventually... And for the first stellar cycle of your... shared life, there is a quota of five dates you will hopefully meet.” Downshift smiled so tightly it hurt his faceplate. In reality there was no “hopefully” or “wishes”, there were expectations and orders, but he didn't want to force the matter at this point. It was too early for that and he had other clients to attend to, so he couldn't afford to offline here. 

Megatron stared ahead and didn't say anything, but his faceplate twitched threateningly. Optimus was hardly any better off, but at least attempted to politely smile and nodded for a sign of understanding but radiated icy displeasure even stronger than Megatron.

“Well, that was it!” Downshift said in a voice that was higher than normally. “If neither of you have any more questions for me about the arrangements here or anything, then I'll be off to my next appointment! You have my contact information and you can send me a message any time you wish if you have some business you wish to discuss.”

Neither mech said anything, and Optimus stepped aside from the hallway leading to the front door, and Downshift made his escape. 

*

The transporting vehicle and the prison guards had already departed so Downshift returned to the ground level. The guards had only come for the prisoners, so now he was on his own and had to track down the rest on his clients list. 

First he found Autobots Bulkhead and Wheeljack, old friends who seemed to go everywhere together. They had apartments in the same block by the old train tracks, and Downshift met them on the courtyard, informing them about the visitations schedules and the work they were to do.

“Constructions sounds great!” Bulkhead said with a smile the moment he got his assignment, already busy peering over at Wheeljack's orders. The smaller mech had sat down on the low stone fence and refused to even straighten his spinal strut.

“Yep, looks like we're in it together, Bulk,” Wheeljack said and couldn't sound less interested if he tried. 

Downshift watched the brave smile Bulkhead put on in hopes his grim friend would cheer up, and when he didn't, saw it fit to cut in: “I understand you were both in construction before the war. I believe it does good things to a mind to pick up where one left off, and you both are perfectly fit for the job. There's nothing to worry about, and you will receive minimum wage just like everyone else.”

“Great,” Wheeljack grunted and left it at that.

“Now can I have your addresses for my contact information? You must check in once a moon cycle and must not move without a permission. Any questions?” 

There were none, and Downshift continued on his tour. The next one he tracked down was the Decepticon Soundwave who waited him by the ruins of the former train station, punctual to the klik. He didn't utter a single word the entire and very brief meeting, simply accepted his assignment in processing information and partaking in the rebuilding of the communication network, nodded his thanks and was on his way.

An equally short and efficient appointment was the next one with Ultra Magnus. As far as Downshift could tell the stoic and extremely professional Ultra Magnus – the key general of the entire Autobot army since the beginning, the second in command of Optimus Prime during the War for Cybertron – was mostly surprised he was still alive and allowed to roam freely. He insisted on reading all the documents Downshift delivered to him and told him he had fully expected to be executed or at least imprisoned or exiled for the rest of his days no matter the end result of the war, just chatted away like it was his idea of a casual conversation. He expressed his thanks for being assigned to the team of academic law professionals and bureaucrats with a mission to recover, process and proofread Cybertronian laws and regulations and make a list of approved updates the Red Star Colony had made during their space voyage. Downshift felt like he had been transported to his old duties aboard the Red Star, and almost saluted the mech out of habit.

A more eventful meeting was the next one; in front of a still closed bar next to a low-grade hostel establishment closer to the city central, with the Decepticon medic and the infamous Air Commander. They had a sketchy air around them that made them seem like a couple of professional con artists, mostly because their obviously usually well-kept images had suffered due to the shortage of supplies and less than luxurious drifter life, and it seemed the two opportunists had banded together when the ship had gone down.

Knockout was clearly less than pleased that he hadn't been assigned to a hospital or even to a nursing position but to a rehab clinic, but while he kept any stingy comments to himself, Starscream was very vocal and openly hostile about taking the first visitation with Megatron.

“This is rubbish. Complete, total and utter _rubbish_ ,” the seeker hissed through gritting dentae while tapping his meticulously sharpened talons on his forearm. It looked like his finish could lose its shine and his paint could bear a scratch here and there, but no matter the circumstances he would find a way to sharpen his talons.

“It's a part of your sentence. It's not supposed to be pleasant,” Downshift said neutrally. 

Starscream spat. “I know that! What I am calling out are your useless higher-ups who think a clot of cast iron can be rehabilitated!” 

“The official stand is that- “ Downshift started, but Starscream interrupted: “To the Pits with your official stands! Do you think I'm stupid!? You... You will regret that you didn't execute Megatron! You will _all_ regret!”

Downshift took the seeker's spiteful anger calmly. This was familiar field for him, no different from listening to an addict's withdrawal rage. “I suppose we will see about that, but in the meantime you have a job to do. Now if neither one of you have any questions, I'll need a permanent address from both of you, if you please.”

Starscream crossed his arms and glared at him. “Do you think we'd be rusting in this hole if either one of us _had_ a place to call our own?!”

“If you don't have one now, then please keep me posted if you move from here to another hostel, and notify me as soon as you get your own apartments,” Downshift instructed as he took down notes.

“Actually... I might have a place soon,” Knockout said suddenly, tossing his datapad on the table. “I talked with a landlord just yesterday about a small place nearby. If I get it, I'll just send you a message, then?”

“Yes, that will be enough,” Downshift said. He was about to continue, but Starscream cut in again, this time directing his anger at his companion.

“You have an apartment you didn't think telling me about?!” he demanded.

Knockout shrugged. “I was going to, besides I don't have it yet.”

“Why didn't you tell me?!” Starscream snapped, one sharp talon tapping impatiently against his elbow.

“Because I don't know if I'll get the place!” Knockout threw back, getting annoyed too. Then there was a flicker in his optics and his annoyance changed into a charming smile fast like the gears of a racer. “You are welcome to move in too if that's the issue. There's enough room, and I can share.” 

The proposition seemed to take Starscream by surprise, because his spinal strut snapped straight and his wings perked up. He measured his companion carefully with narrowed optics, keeping his alert posture until he seemed to come to a decision. “Oh. We'll see, doctor,” the seeker muttered. 

Downshift took the opportunity to leave now that the pair was engaged with each other and couldn't blame him for anything and everything that didn't work or please them, and continued on his job. 

On the next he had three Autobots who apparently had also banded together. The small two-wheeler Arcee was calm and strict and acted as the spokesman for the two young racer mechs who defiantly refused to accept their datapads or look Downshift in the optic, choosing to face away from him and kick rocks on the street. 

Arcee was a picture of decency, but at the same time despite her small frame stood like a wall between Downshift and the speedsters. She browsed their assignments.

“I see I am to visit Optimus in three weeks. Are you perhaps going through us according our ranks?” Arcee asked without lifting her serious gaze.

“That would be correct, yes,” Downshift replied. 

Arcee nodded and kept scrolling. Smokescreen picked a rock on his pede and started to bounce it up and down with ease that implied this was a popular pastime. 

“I see I have been assigned to a minor delivery bot position in a postal office and the boys to cleaning duty,” Arcee said and looked up from the pad. She didn't ask anything, simply stated this but still made it sound like a criticism. 

Downshift spread his arms and shrugged. He had no control over the assignments, those were up to the Department of Justice – he was simply a social worker acting as the middle man. “The jobs have been selected with your frame types and previous skills in mind,” he said and spoke the truth. 

Bumblebee let out a series of angry beeps. “Smokescreen and I: Created in wartime. Us: No other experience.”

Downshift tried to look apologetic and reassuring when he smiled. He was compassionate but, once again, he had no power over the grand scheme of things. “We are very aware of that, and we are sorry. Trust me, countless other young bots are in the same situation.”

“And they start to clean places too, huh?” Smokescreen snapped, the rock finally falling from his pede and he kicked it aside. 

“Well... There are some education opportunities... Not too many yet, though, since schools and science institutes have not been re-established yet, but some,” Downshift answered. 

“And can we apply to those?!” Smokescreen threw back, crossing his arms across his chassis. 

“I'm afraid not, at least not right a way,” Downshift said, clasping his servos together. 

Bumblebee spat displeased noises through his rattling vocalizer and Smokescreen nodded, agreeing with the racket. 

Arcee raised her servo, stopping the flood of protests and frustrated curses coming from the younger ones. “Is this part of the sentence? Judging the youngest to do without possibilities of education and establishing their own lives after they have served the time?”

Downshift suppressed a deep sigh. He had too much experience in the field to start get sappy and sorry now. It was unfortunate, but he couldn't help it and no amount of sorries or condolences would change that. “This is only a temporary arrangement,” he said instead. “Let's begin with this and if it all goes well I'll see what I can do about this. Getting education would be good for everyone, I'm sure it makes at least a compelling plea to the Court.”

Arcee's stare was cold and hard and she didn't say anything. Downshift was suddenly reminded of his Captain's bondmate. 

“Now... Uh... Am I correct to assume I will reach all three of you in the same address?” Downshift asked, hurrying things along.

Arcee threw a quick subtle glance at the two younger bots behind her who had once again resolved into kicking rocks, then turned back and handed Downshift's datapad back. “You would be correct, yes. Now that Optimus has been locked away someone has to keep an optic out for others.”

“A caring attitude. That is good,” Downshift said and smiled, but didn't receive one back.

“You know, I acted as the second in command in Team Prime long before Ultra Magnus reached us on Earth,” Arcee said and put her servos on her hipplate. 

“I know you are perfectly capable for this job then,” Downshift said. 

With that the business was done and Arcee almost shooed him away on the road again.

Since the Decepticon science officer Shockwave had been separately dealt with, provided with personal guards and escorted to Crystal City and the newly founded science academy, the next and the last one on Downshift's schedule was the Autobot medic Ratchet. 

The medic was the only one who had managed to secure himself an apartment already, but most likely it had more to do with him being a medical professional and thus a wanted neighbor during these uncertain times than with anything else. Besides Ratchet was the oldest of all the sentenced bots, according to Downshift's records even considerably older than Optimus himself.

Not that it mattered when Ratchet welcomed him into the small two-room apartment in the northern part of the city where the buildings were lower and there were more hotels, service buildings and culture centers than anywhere else. Only now the beautiful buildings where there had been art and theaters and museums before the war were mostly rubble piles and tarp tents and scaffoldings, but the memory still lingered. 

The apartment was mostly empty. Even Ratchet didn't have much else than a roof over his helm, but that was very well considering the state the rest of his companions were. 

The doctor wasn't a very chatty or hospitable one. He didn't even invite Downshift inside, simply grumpily stepped aside from the door and walked back inside expecting Downshift to follow him. 

Standing in the middle of the room compromising between kitchen, living room and a storage Ratchet crossed his arms across his chassis, narrowed his optics and carefully measured Downshift with his optics. “State you business and be over with it,” he said. 

“Ah... Yes, certainly,” Downshift said, a little bit taken aback by the open rudeness and handed over a datapad. “Here is the information about your work assignment and the visitation schedule.”

Ratchet snatched the pad and glanced it over while muttering under his breath. Then, after a moment he jerked, lifted his gaze and said: “Wait a moment... I'm not placed in a hospital work? But I am a doctor!”

“Yes, well... The same goes for the Decepticon CMO. He's placed in-” 

“I don't give a damn where he's placed! Don't we have a shortage of medical professionals?! What sense does it make to assign one of your few doctors in - “ 

“The decision has already been made, doctor. I am sorry, but it's final,” Downshift interrupted before the doctor could get too angry at him. “And you are absolutely correct, we do have only a few doctors and nurses left, and that is exactly why you will be teaching new ones.”

“But - ! But I know nothing about teaching!” Ratchet protested, gesturing at the datapad like Downshift couldn't possibly know what was said on the screen. 

“You have the education and the skills, doctor. I'm sure that will be enough,” Downshift reassured. 

Ratchet looked at him with open displeasure but let the subject be, content to mumble to himself as he browsed through the rest of the information. 

“Wait a moment...” the doctor said, a new kind of shocked surprise creeping onto his faceplate. “This says I'll be able to see Optimus only after seven weeks from now!”

“Yes?”

“Well that can't be right!”

“I'm afraid it is,” Downshift said and before he could be interrupted again added: “May I remind you that technically Optimus Prime was sentenced to death? He is a special case like none before, and your visitation rights are only to support his rehabilitation.”

Ratchet stared at him with a tense, serious expression and took in a deep vent of air. When he spoke again his voice was carefully level and deliberately slow: “Optimus Prime is a war hero. He did nothing less than save our entire race and most recently our planet. He is also my closest friend, your _Prime_ , and a _person_. After all he's been through he deserves more than being locked up and isolated.”

Deep in the secret depths of his spark Downshift agreed with him. He didn't like what had happened to their Prime, but at the same time understood that it was necessary for the sake of peace. It shocked him to think how long others outside the Red Star Colony had clung to the war, and even a thought of returning to that made him nauseous with fear. 

“We can pray that Primus' wisdom will be with him,” Downshift said with a strained smile, nodded his farewells and left.


	15. House mates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! As promised, a shorter break this time. <3  
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments here and reblogs on Tumblr! It's been so great to watch those numbers stacking up and chatting with you guys about your thoughts. :)
> 
> And now it's time for the honeymoon~~!   
> Yeah, no, that's a thing for romantic marriages, not the political ones. This is more like the first few weeks in prison. Where your only company is the person you hate the most in the entire universe, and you don't have WiFi, as Optimus will find out.

Optimus looked around the apartment that was to be his new home. For a prison it was a rather neat place, certainly better than the one he had lived in during his days as a librarian. 

The main room was square and had an open doorway to the kitchen. The back wall had three windows reaching from the floor all the way to the ceiling, now covered with metallic blinds that were tinted so that the light that fell in shone to the ceiling. The kitchen had more table tops than anything to put on them, just one regular energon processor and empty jars. The cold compartment had a glass door, and when Optimus looked into the drawers and cabinets, most of them empty, he found five clean cubes, a stone bowl and a masher, but no sharp objects or anything large and blunt. 

The main room and the kitchen were separated only by a thin wall, but the two remaining rooms were behind actual doors. The first one Optimus peeked into resembled a study even if it only had a computer station set on the floor and a messy set of tangly, unplugged wires in a pile next to it, and one shelf that was probably some sort of surplus from a storage since it was stern and made of unpainted metal. 

The berthroom didn't have much more in it, only a bare berth and its paddings still rolled up in the corner. There were towels and sheets, rags and polishing fluid bottles on the bare berthframe in a neat set. In the back there was a door to what Optimus deduced was the wash-racks. 

He returned to the main room which had a hard, low-back couch set, a dresser with mismatched drawers – and Megatron standing in front of the windows. 

The situation was odd and awkward. Optimus couldn't remember when he had last been alone together with Megatron like this, and he didn't have the slightest clue as of what to do or say now. What would they do?

He would just have to try and find out.

“Megatron?” Optimus carefully called. The back on his neckcables tingled with warning for being in a tight space with Megatron of all people, but he shoved the feeling aside and at least tried to offer peace. 

“Don't think anything between us has changed,” Megatron grunted from the window without turning.

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I am still going to kill you,” Megatron replied with a shred of patronizing tone in his voice. “And thanks to those _idiots_ in your precious High Council it will be a very easy task.”

Optimus took a silent, deep invent of air and rolled his optics. “You have tried that more than a few times by now. It hasn't worked before.”

“Oh but this time is different, isn't it? Now you can't run away from me anywhere,” Megatron said, almost chuckling. “While you took a lovely tour around this pit of ours I tested the door and the windows. The security system on the door is tight and will send an alarm the klik one of us steps into the staircase, and these windows are made of very sturdy glass. Even if I still had my fusion cannon I doubt I could break it. Not that it would help you even if you managed that, unless you'd like to plummet to your death.”

“You're ever so grim, Megatron,” Optimus sighed with the shake of his helm. 

“Well this is a grim situation, Prime!” Megatron snapped and finally turned around. He was positively fuming with wrath, gritting his dentae and shifting his weight on his pedes. Even though the apartment had been made with their frame types and size in mind, Megatron looked trapped and out of place there. “Do you have _any_ idea what they've done to us?!”

Optimus tilted his helm to the side and crossed his arms in front of him. He had a few ideas and theories, but he recognized a rhetorical question when he heard one and wasn't about to annoy Megatron on purpose. 

And then as expected, Megatron answered his own question: “They have locked us away, stored and silenced us and rendered us useless! They can talk about mercy and whatever scrap they want, but this is just their version of death, and they want to rub our faces in it, to force us to experience the slow erosion of _everything_ anyone aside from the old upper class and functionalists ever worked for!”

Megatron's optics were blazing with pure wrath. The whole mech looked like he was only barely containing himself, kliks away from throwing a rage fit powerful enough to bring the whole block down.

Optimus might have been concerned about that, but right now he was exhausted and worried about his team, and the last thing he had the energy or the will to deal with was Megatron's self-righteous temper tantrum. He kept his optics cold and his posture strict, choosing to only nod slowly when Megatron spoke without gracing him with any kind of proper reaction.

“I see,” he hummed.

Megatron's rage dried up and turned sour. He glared at Optimus with contempt for his underreaction, and the provoking battle stance slowly relaxed. “'I see',” Megatron repeated, his upper lipplate pulling back in disgust. “That's it? That's everything you have to say about this? Or is that just all your emotion circuits are capable of squeezing out of you?”

Optimus tilted his chin up and overlooked Megatron's immature attempt to pick a fight, no matter how much he wanted to swallow the bait along with the hook and just go at it. He didn't reply, but that didn't stop Megatron who loved the sound of his own voice and vocalized his oh-so-excellent thoughts in spite of popular demand.

“Oh, no... No, don't tell me... You're probably so content right now!” Megatron said in a mockingly soft tone while something seemed to dawn to him. He shifted his weight to one pede and settled his servos on his hipplate. “You're just happy about this! I should have known, this must be your dream come true! You get to roll over and sacrifice yourself for the sake of all the surviving Cybertronians, and since we're going to rust here for quite some time, maybe you're lucky and get to play the part of a selfless messiah for a few following generations too!”

“I'm actually quite surprised you were able to even fathom a scenario which doesn't revolve around you,” Optimus threw back icily. 

“Oh excuse me, my lord Prime, I mistook you for a bot with actual mind of their own,” Megatron hissed back.

Optimus scoffed and rolled his optics. He decided to do the responsible thing and defuse the situation. He took a couple of steps towards the middle of the room and sat down on the couch, set his servos on his lap and looked away from Megatron. At this point Optimus had known Megatron long enough to know any attempts to calm him down were in vain, but the least he could do was to not pour more water into the mill.

Megatron growled something to himself and stomped back and forth before the windows. He muttered under his breath and flexed his arms rattling the plates, probably wishing he had a weapon of any kind available. 

Optimus tried to change the subject: “There appears to be two padding mattresses in the berthroom, one for each of us. You can take a pick on where you'll recharge, I don't mind where that leaves me.”

That was an opportunity enough for Megatron to let out some steam, and he snorted loudly when he turned around again. He happily sunk his claws into the new subject and turned it into an insult: “I guessed that much, Prime! You don't care about anything! You're basically a charity drone!” 

Optimus sighed and glanced at the ceiling, pointedly keeping his focus of attention away from Megatron. “At least I care about things other than myself, Megatron. I already knew you are a cruel and selfish mech, but even I couldn't have guessed how completely incapable of remorse you are!”

Megatron threw his helm back and laughed. He seemed to thirst for a good fight, anything distracting enough to take his mind off the current state of his being, and Optimus was very aware he was the only target available. 

“Remorse? About what, losing the war? I have no regrets, Prime! That is how I chose to live my life!”

“By ending those of others?” Optimus threw back. “This what we are currently going through is a lawful punishment for war crimes! Do you really put yourself so above others you don't think anyone could make you face consequences of your actions?!”

“No one was there to spout morality speeches when workers and gladiators were offlining in Kaon,” Megatron snapped.

Optimus didn't have the energy to stop a sarcastic huff that escaped him. “You always have your excuses ready, don't you? You haven't been any more a miner than a gladiator in more than a million stellar cycles, Megatron! Your deeds during the war dwarfed your little shield of pity play a long ago!” 

Megatron's expression radiated hatred and loathing as he stalked across the living room while keeping his optics focused on Optimus, who returned the gaze coolly.   
“You don't know anything, Optimus Prime,” Megatron hissed at him. 

After a moment of silence between them Optimus scoffed and shrugged again. He refused to get angry, refused to stand up and meet the challenge. “I went through the same war you did, Megatron. There are a great deal of things I know. Just because you refuse to look beyond your own limited point of view doesn't change that. Just because you were a member of a low caste doesn't grant you universal wisdom!”

Megatron growled and stepped right in front of Optimus, who still sat down on the couch, relaxed and stubbornly calm. Megatron leaned down, pushing his face closer to Optimus' and whispered: “Get up and let's see if you've learned anything, then. Get up and fight me!” 

In that moment there weren't many things Optimus would have liked to do more than get up on to his pedes, throw himself at his enemy and batter him with his bare servos, wrestle him to the floor and hurt him with everything he had. He was truly tempted, if only to let out all his frustration and personal feelings about the imprisonment, but he couldn't do that. If he now lost himself in the battle rage and satisfied the old grudge, he would do considerable damage to the peace of their people. He didn't want to start guessing, but a Prime murdering their newly bonded one or the other way around might split the people apart again, maybe even deeply enough to start another war. 

This wasn't just about them, it hadn't ever been, so Optimus held on to that idea and made his patience last indefinitely. 

“Stop being ridiculous,” Optimus answered. Megatron's optics stared at him unblinking, full of a killer's rage. “Your gladiator's honor really is just a feeble excuse of a moral then, isn't it?”

Megatron actually looked baffled. “What?”

“I thought you had more honor than to beat your bondmate,” Optimus specified.

For a klik Optimus thought his jab had been a fatal one against himself, so infuriated and insulted Megatron looked at his words. The larger mech was speechless for a moment, glossa-tied in his rage.

“We. Are. Not. Bondmates,” Megatron finally managed to spit out in a voice rough with barely controlled anger. 

Optimus shrugged again. “True. But officially we are, and that is how everyone will see it, and that is how it will go down in history. Do you want to be that bot, Megatron? The mech who murdered their bondmate the Prime?”

Megatron straightened his spinal strut and took a step back. He was quiet for a while, contemplating and calculating the situation again, all the while returning Optimus's cool blue gaze. Finally he crossed his arms across his chassis and looked down at Optimus. “You always were a manipulative one, Optimus. And look at you, using your position for personal agenda. You really did go through the war.”

Optimus took the insults with his chin up and expression neutral. He had grown quite thick an armoring during his time as a Prime. “I'm just reminding you what's at stake and watching out for my own spark. Call it what you like, I don't care.”

“Your facade might work for your troops but I see through it,” Megatron answered, pointing at him with an accusing digit. “I _know_ I hit a neural sensor.”

“You are very keen on hurting me,” Optimus observed, tilting his helm. “Well, that is a thing of no import now. Do you want to pick a spot to recharge at or not?”

It was Megatron's turn to roll his optics. “I don't care about the spot as long as it's as far away from you as possible.” With that he turned around and marched to the berthroom, slamming the door behind him.

“I quite agree,” Optimus muttered to himself.

The first delivery of supplies arrived that same afternoon. The delivery bot was an officer of the law instead of a regular post officer, and it was Optimus who answered the door. The officer instructed him through the official procedure of accepting the delivered goods, and after around five klikcycles and several signatures and one CNA identification later Optimus was finally able to take the large package inside and close the door. He had barely managed to carry it into the kitchen and set it down on the counter, when Megatron came in to make sure he got his share.

“Well. What's in it?” Megatron demanded the klik he stepped inside the kitchen.

Optimus gave him a pointed look. “I haven't even opened it yet.”

“Well hurry up then! We have an inventory to make,” Megatron said impatiently. 

Optimus didn't grace him with a reply, but instead wrestled the bindings and seals open. 

They didn't speak while they took everything they had been delivered out and stocked them into neat little piles while counting everything, and when the package was empty they had quite a row of unprocessed energon crystals, oil cans and coolant bottles. 

“How are we going to share these?” Optimus asked.

“Half and half of course!” Megatron snapped and was already hoarding his share of the energon crystals on his side of the counter. 

Optimus gave him a long look. “You don't even like flavored oil.”

“Don't pretend you know me just because you know what I like or don't like to drink,” Megatron snapped. “I want exactly half of the supplies, I don't care what they are.”

“Suit yourself,” Optimus sighed and counted half of the cans and bottles for himself. “I suppose you want to split the cold compartment too?”

“Of course! What's with all these stupid questions?” Megatron replied, ever impatient. His bad mood hadn't gone anywhere and he wasn't about to hide it. “We will share everything. Half for you, half for me, and there won't be any confusion about things. You just keep your servos off of my things and I won't pound you into scrap metal, are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Optimus answered. At least he wouldn't have to argue with Megatron about every single thing and food crumb if this much was clear. “Do you want to use the wash-rack in the morning or in the evening?”

“Morning.”

“So be it, then,” Optimus agreed. There was no need to discuss anything more then, and Megatron took the opportunity to move himself as far away from Optimus as was currently possible. 

Optimus stored his share of the fuel and goods away and wondered what to do next. The apartment had more room than the cells aboard the Red Star he had spent the past stellar cycle in, but the same boredom was still tormenting him. There was no way of telling what the future would hold, but after the live feed of their bonding ceremony and the size of the crowd that had arrived to receive their greetings the Council couldn't just leave them here to rust. Probably.

Ratbat was the one Optimus was most worried about, but he didn't know much about the rest of the Council members. He had had a great amount of intel about the former High Council of the old Cybertron, but the new systems of power were unknown to him. He made a mental note to put through a request for a news medium and some literature concerning the current society structures.

For the rest of the day Optimus decided to make himself useful with the computer unit they had been granted. It wasn't very useful without a free access to the grid, so instead Optimus decided to dig through its programming in order to find out what kind of spyware it was using to supervise its use. He couldn't do much about it now, but he could take notes about its coding and security in case the future had something nasty in store for him. 

While he dug through the computer's system Optimus pondered the matter of _them_ ; him and Megatron. The bonding ceremony had felt awkward to say the least, and even though he would never confess it to another living spark it made him feel used. Used in the grand scheme of things, somehow, but he wasn't entirely sure by whom.

On one hand he despised the Council and the judges for using such a sacred rite to further their own means to an end, but on the second hand he hated Megatron even more for using the opportunity for his own agenda. Of course the former warlord had painted himself as a dutiful, working Kaonian and a noble warrior, and the gladiatorial greeting on the temple's balcony was something he had pulled Optimus into with him. Optimus hadn't made any decisions for himself in a while now, and everyone around him seemed to want to walk right over him. He wondered if he was actually secretly envious of Megatron and how the mech commanded his own destiny without any regard for others, or was the murky feeling in his spark shame that he had once admired that about him.

But, Optimus reminded himself, he couldn't act hastily. It wouldn't do to make hurried decisions or jump to conclusions just because he was uncomfortable with his current situation.

This was a punishment for not being able to prevent the war, and for later failing to end it quickly. The Allspark was still lost to them, and it was his fault. 

And Megatron was here with him, he of all people. The irony of the situation wasn't lost to him. Optimus knew fully well why they had been allowed to live, and it had nothing to do with mercy but everything to do with pleasing their factions. In a way they had saved each other's sparks by existing and being as horrible people as they were, practically soaked in spilled energon and still hailed as leaders.

He tried to stop thinking and focused in his work. Code was familiar and safe, something he had known almost his entire existence. His wandering thoughts turned into background noise.

When Optimus shook himself from his work flow and checked how much time had passed it was already dark outside. He decided to make himself a place to lay down on, left the study and went to the berthroom. Megatron had already picked his paddings and, to Optimus' surprise, one pillow, so he didn't have to pick anything, just take what was left. He took the rolled mattress and a pillow and dragged them to the study room where he made himself a recharge place in the corner. When he returned to the berthroom for the sheets he took the first proper glance at the actual berth there. It was the only berth in the whole apartment, and it was for two. Without the paddings it looked bare and harsh, and Optimus didn't want to stay there for long. He knew it was there just for the sake of appearances, but it made him think of the intimacy of actual bonded pairs and that wasn't something he wanted to associate with this prison of theirs. 

But no matter how much Optimus tried not to complain even inside his own helm, and how much he tried not to overthink or analyze the situation, he couldn't permanently silence his own thoughts and become a mech who didn't recognize his own feelings. When he laid down that night cycle he stared at the ceiling for a long while, listening to Megatron's deep intakes of air from the other side of the wall, he had no choice but to let the reality sink in. They were trapped here, for better or worse, and neither one knew for how long, and they had no other company but each other. 

For the first time in a long while, since before Optimus had become a Prime, since before the war had started and since before he had even heard the name Megatronus, Optimus felt terribly, hopelessly lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This is one of those "character building" type of chapters, an important ingredient of a true slow-build. (Next chapter will be longer. These are _not_ getting shorter permanently.)
> 
> If you liked this be sure to leave kudos if you already haven't, and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and feelings and theories in the comments! I would also welcome constructive criticism if you feel like you'd like to give me some. (Don't be shy, I'm an adult and I can handle stuff.)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr (zombieheroine.tumblr.com)!


	16. New homes are empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, my dear readers, this fic went over 300 kudos! I'm so glad about that, thank you all for showing your appreciation! This is so cool~
> 
> Speaking of cool, give a shoutout to Bonnini (bonnini.tumblr.com) who drew a fancomic about this fic (bonnini.tumblr.com/post/151384463238/hello-guys-this-is-a-fancomic-inspired-by-chapter)!  
> This is the first time I've inspired an artist and received fanart and it made me so happy~   
> Thank you! 
> 
> Now I'm back with a new chapter. Say hello to the devastatingly good-looking opportunist duo~

Knockout could hardly believe how lucky he was. He had managed to score a chance on an apartment by the combination of signing up to every single waiting list, his connections, favors from a certified doctor, and sheer dumb luck. His medical degree was the thing that had finally made him triumph over other applicants, even if the landlord didn't want to admit to it, and who could blame him? They lived during uncertain times, and having a doctor at hand was a reassuring thing. 

So Knockout had a roof over his helm and, if he was to be extremely optimistic, a guaranteed job that paid him actual credits, which equaled a way to pay the rent. He was about to make a smooth landing after all, even though he had had his doubts about that during his time of imprisonment. He still wasn't allowed to leave Iacon but things could have been so much worse than this.

Actually things were _better_ than he had even hoped them to be: Starscream was moving in with him. Knockout wasn't entirely sure how that had happened, and couldn't believe his amazing luck, but here they were now, in front of the apartment building with keycards in servo. 

“Well... Shall we step in, then?” Knockout suggested with a smile.

Starscream sniffed with displeasure in return but started to walk towards the front door anyway, and Knockout fit his steps to his. 

There wasn't a lobby to speak of, just the staircase and two doors, one for the elevator and one into the inhabitants' storages, and a rubber rug on the floor. Knockout watched Starscream from the corner of his optic as the seeker looked around with a suspicious air about him but without a comment. Knockout opened the elevator door for him, and they stuffed themselves into the small car, closed the door and Knockout hit the button for floor number nine. 

It was a tad bit awkward to be so close in a confined space, and definitely uncomfortable with Starscream's wings taking up an impractical amount of space, while the elevator ground and screeched the whole way up. Knockout was actually surprised that Starscream didn't complain about it, just stared at a corner, kept his wings still and rubbed his arm with his servo.

The hallway on their floor was moderately clean, and they found their door in the middle of it. Knockout tried the keycard, a green light blinked and the door swished open. 

The apartment was small and almost completely empty. Knockout closed the door behind them and flicked on the light. One bare lightbulb lit up on the ceiling, illuminating the empty room and the kitchen area in the corner. Starscream wrapped his arms around himself and stepped further inside, looking around. He went to the kitchen and checked if the cold compartment was functioning, then wandered to the other side of the room and peeked into the berthroom, then into the incredibly tiny wash-rack next to it. 

Knockout watched him for a little while before dragging their only bag to the kitchen and storing away their energon cubes.

“What kind of a place is this?” Starscream asked when he walked back from the other side of the room.

“What do you mean?” Knockout asked, kicking the cold compartment shut.

“I mean whose frame type in mind has this building been designed?” Starscream specified with a pointed shake of his wings.

“Oh,” Knockout said, getting the point. “No one's, I hear. There's not enough resources or time to separate people according to anything but maybe their size. According to the landlord this building alone has apartments for anyone from two-wheelers up to shuttle flyers.”

Starscream scoffed and wrapped his arms around himself even tighter and wandered to the window. “This kind of business wouldn't have been tolerated in Vos.”

Knockout shrugged, lifted the bag with its remaining contents on the kitchen counter to be inspected. “Yes, well... The situation is a bit too dire for that kind of business, don't you think? What possible use would it be to divide bots even more than we already are? Can you imagine the uproar that would occur if some frame-types or classes were to be housed before others?”

Starscream huffed. He had huffed and scoffed and snorted a lot lately. “I suppose it has logic behind it. Vos won't be as it used to be either, I recon.” 

Knockout felt he was walking on eggshells here, so he stopped to think for a moment. The seeker didn't appear antagonistic or volatile, but then again Starscream could go from calm to shrieking in a record time so it was better to not risk it.

“It probably won't, yes,” Knockout admitted, “but what good is it to build a city only for flyers? I visited Vos a couple of times before the war and let me tell you, it was nearly impossible to get anywhere through roads!”

“But that was exactly the point, doctor!” Starscream insisted, leaning against the window frame. “Vos was a magnificent city, built with seekers and other flyers in mind. There was no other place with such magnificent runways, with so many landing places and so well-managed air traffic. I didn't _need_ roads there, Knockout! I could get anywhere from the sky! I could stay up there with the wind and the sun for moon cycles without having to come down! We used to -” 

He cut himself off. For a moment he was almost excited, rambling on about the glory of Vos with the subtle undertone of flyer superiority, his voice rising and his servos making those wild, grand gestures, but then he seemed to remember something and shut down again. He shook his helm and turned back to the window, pressing his faceplate against the cool glass. The sky was gray and it looked like it was about to rain soon.

“'You used to'... what?” Knockout asked.

Starscream mumbled something to himself, then said: “Nothing, doctor. Nothing at all. But Vos was home. It was _my_ home, and it is no more.”

“Look on the bright side, Starscream,” Knockout encouraged him while he turned the bag upside down and dumped the whole of its cargo on the kitchen counter. Medical equipment clattered and rolled around. “You have a place to stay in for now. You've pulled through before. Maybe this will be your new home.”

Starscream scoffed dismissively. “I hate Iacon.”

The silence that fell was somewhat awkward, but Knockout busied himself with arranging his equipment. He had salvaged what he could, and though it wasn't much it was probably enough for now. It wasn't like he was about to perform open chassis cavity surgeries here in his kitchen, but some minor injuries and patchwork he could do just fine. Setting up an underground medical clinic wouldn't probably be a good idea so soon after his release and before he had yet to even begin the community service part of his sentence, but in case he ran out of credits he had a solid plan. 

“I can't believe he made it,” Starscream growled at the window. He said it so quietly Knockout wasn't sure if he was meant to hear it at first, but the seeker kept going: “It just isn't _fair_! How are they letting him go?! Just like that! Where's the justice in this world!?”

“Gone, I suppose, if it ever existed,” Knockout commented. He didn't really want to take part in Starscream's existential crisis, but couldn't resist making remarks regardless. 

“But _why_!? Why would any sensible bot let Megatron _live_?”

Knockout shrugged. “You must have noticed there is still one member of the old council kicking. Ratbat probably wants to have a proper revenge on Megatron and humiliate him a bit. He was never exactly a role model of just decision making, even compared to other crooked council members.”

Starscream barked a hoarse laugh. It was starting to rain outside, fat drops were hitting the window. “Oh, I know alright! I knew a lot of things about a whole lot of people before the war, you know.”

“Everybody loves gossip,” Knockout chuckled.

“But even if he nurses a mighty grudge over the revolution and the war for Megatron - “

“ _And_ the big O. Don't forget the Prime from the list!”

“I don't care about the Prime!” Starscream snapped. “It's Megatron they should be worried about! Haven't they learned anything from the past million stellar cycles?! I swear you could hack Megatron into pieces and stick his helm inside an asteroid, and he'd _still_ find a way to come back! He crawled out of the Pits for Spark's sake! Hasn't _anyone_ learned _anything_?!”

Starscream looked extremely agitated – even to Knockout who could only see his back – with his wings shivering in a high alert position and servos clutching his elbows. 

“Well, when he does he'll have a clear main target, and it isn't you,” Knockout said, attempting a comforting tone of voice. He heard Starscream sigh, but the tension stayed in his frame.

Knockout let out a deep sigh himself. As glad as he was that he had managed to secure Starscream close to him instead of losing him in the ever-growing mass of people and vast cities, the seeker was a complicated friend to have – if he even considered their relationship a friendly one in the first place.

Knockout picked up a blowtorch. “Starscream, come here.”

Starscream turned his helm to look at the medic over his shoulder. He narrowed his optics at the tool in Knockout's servo but turned around regardless.

“Let's get this over with,” he said, walked to the middle of the room and sat down with his legs crossed.

Knockout picked up a few small scraping tools and wrapped them into a clean cloth to accompany the torch before he joined Starscream on the floor. He assembled the tools next to him with great care and in proper order before he picked up the torch again and shook it. It was running low on gas, but it had enough for this procedure. 

He flicked the blowtorch on, adjusted the size of the bright blue flame until it was fit for a delicate work, and then picked up a spackle knife.

“Stay still,” he said to Starscream, leaned forward and took the blue flame to the edge of the Decepticon badge on the seeker's chassis. The smell of scorching metal filled the room. Starscream offlined his optics, pressed his dentae together and hissed behind them in pain. 

Knockout heated the bottom side of the badge until the metal cooperated, then set the torch down and started to scrape the welding off with the spackle knife. He inched the tool carefully underneath the red emblem and started to peel it off. He wiggled the tool around as long as he dared and then picked up the blowtorch again, started to heat up the next part of the badge and then peeled it off some more.

Starscream sat still and quiet, letting him work in peace. The seeker vented air in deep, labored breaths while he worked, but curiously didn't complain. Maybe he wanted the badge off too desperately to whine and moan about the pain.

“I am to visit him first, you know,” Starscream said suddenly when they were nearly halfway done.   
Knockout raised an optic ridge at him. “So I heard.”

Starscream held his chin up in a fake display of pride Knockout had seen him act out so many times aboard the Nemesis. His optics stared ahead empty and his voice had an odd note, a smooth sound Knockout couldn't recall having heard too often. The unsettling changes and the pain of the procedure probably pushed the seeker to speak more truthfully than he would have if he had had the energy to be secretive. 

“I don't want to go. I don't want to see him. I just want to put this behind me and forget that he ever existed,” Starscream mumbled, gesturing at the burned and wrinkly Decepticon badge that was almost off his chassis.

Knockout didn't know what to say, but he had a hard time to concentrate to his work. He had put the torch down again and was taking his time with the spackle knife so he could take as many glances at Starscream's face as possible, drinking in the rare sight of honesty.

“Some punishment, eh?” he managed to say, shaking himself awake from the trance, turning his attention back down at the seeker's chassis and the badge. 

Starscream didn't seem to notice anything strange about the medic. He huffed in distaste. “I don't want to see him ever again.”

“You would have preferred they had executed Megatron,” Knockout said. It wasn't a question, just a comment to signal he was listening and understood. It felt odd and disrespectful to even speak about their former leader without a title before his designation, but saying 'Lord' would have just agitated the seeker needlessly, so Knockout swallowed the word. 

“Of course I would have! And it would have been better for everyone,” Starscream said through the dentae his was biting together. He was becoming restless under Knockout's care, it was apparent in the way his digits tapped against his knee guard, scratched his own palms and how tense he was. “I don't even know what I should say to him. And I don't want to know what he'll say to me...”

“Don't worry about that yet. Besides, the only thing he can do to you is talk. It's not that bad,” Knockout tried to comfort, but Starscream looked back at him with a look that was equally sour and haunted. 

“He can do plenty with that alone,” Starscream said. “I've known him for so long... I've _served_ him so long... Can you even imagine what that does to a mech?”

Knockout honestly couldn't, but he had gotten disturbing glances at that mess on Earth. Before the long exodus Knockout had known Starscream only by reputation: The Air Commander of the seekers, the best flyer of them all. Lethal in the air as well as in close combat, and with a wit and cunning so sharp and devious that he wouldn't have to lift a digit to make things go his way.

The reputation and rumors had made Knockout expect to meet a cold and calculative seeker as emotionless and bright as clean steel, but the reality had been quite different. The Starscream he had met might have been an excellent flyer and quite clever, but he had long ago lost his seekers, and his charisma was outshined by Megatron's. Starscream turned out to be petty and mean, selfish and prim, and all the coolness and posture he managed to scram together went flying out of the airlock the klik Megatron even glared his way. 

Starscream was terrible, sensitive and tended to mess up under pressure. He complained and peacocked, simultaneously praising and putting himself down. He was confusing and resourceful and somehow always picked himself up, and Knockout was absolutely charmed. 

“I can see the war didn't go easy on you,” Knockout diplomatically said.

Starscream scoffed again. “It's not the war's fault. It's his.”

“I believe you,” Knockout said gently. He wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve with the comment, but something shifted between them and Starscream seemed to relax just a bit, and he counted it as a success. 

Some kind of an understanding had been reached under the surface, and Starscream quickly directed the conversation away from himself: “When is your visitation day?”

“I'm the third in line, actually. First you, then Soundwave and then myself. I suppose Shockwave will be skipping this rehabilitation game exercise altogether, otherwise his turn would be before me.”

“I wonder what he did to avoid this mess,” Starscream muttered.

Knockout shrugged. “Well he joined us here after he got stranded, so he wasn't _really_ part of the officer lineup. It might also be that even the Council's so called mercy policy wouldn't let him just run around unattended.”

Starscream actually chuckled at that. “That would be the first wise thing those fools decide!”

Knockout grinned in silence at that, amused by the comment but mostly feeling elevated by Starscream's jesting remark. With a smile on his face he scratched the last of the welding off, and the twisted and burned Decepticon mark fell off Starscream's chassis. 

“There we go,” Knockout sighed, satisfied with his work. He inspected the metal underneath the badge and the burn marks around it with his digits, gentle and clinical. “Are you in pain?”

“Not any more,” Starscream replied, hesitated, and then added: “Thank you, doctor.”

Knockout raised his optics to look into Starscream's. “You're welcome.”

Starscream held his gaze for a moment before turning his helm away, breaking the building tension. 

“Will we be recharging on the floor?” he asked.

“Actually,” Knockout said, gladly picking up the new topic and getting up before he said something that might make things awkward, “the landlord said there should be folded paddings somewhere around.”

The apartment was empty, but after a trip to the lobby and the storage in a chilly basement they did indeed find two guest paddings. Both were made out of three independent square pieces fitted vertically together within a covering that made it possible to fold them up into a form of a cube. They dragged the clearly used and worn but surprisingly clean paddings back up to their apartment and made themselves makeshift berths in the berthroom, next to the opposite walls. 

They didn't have pillows or covers, so when it was time to lay down and power down they both laid on their bare paddings, staring up at the ceiling. 

Knockout was reflecting on how strange it was to be so content just sharing the space with Starscream and not caring if the seeker felt the same, when a question popped into his mind: “Starscream? Are you still up?”

“Hmm?” Starscream mumbled.

“Do you have work tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Starscream was silent for a while, and Knockout suspected he wasn't awake after all, but fallen into recharge already, but then he answered: “I will be directing communications in Iacon's air traffic control.”

He sounded more bitter than Knockout had heard in a long while, and the medic was starting to regret bringing the work up.

“Ironic, isn't it?” Starscream continued without prompting. “Just when I get my wings back I'm trapped into a low and narrow little apartment in _Iacon_ of all places, and will spend my days watching other people flying.”

“It's only temporary,” Knockout reminded.

“I suppose,” Starscream sighed back, and didn't talk after that. 

*

As Starscream had expected his assigned job was boring. He certainly wasn't some war-crazed nut job who missed the hail of laser fire and savage battles, but considering that these assignments were supposedly dictated by their assumed function it was an outright insult to be a seeker positioned in front of a desk. 

The work place itself was a positive surprise since people either pretended they didn't recognize him or genuinely couldn't care less who he was, and the job didn't require him to speak to anyone directly. But still he was to simply sit still for eight cycles filtering and organizing the radio messages of the air traffic and forward his suggestions to other workers, and it was tedious. 

There was very little tension, and Starscream suspected it was due to the fact that most flyers had been Decepticons. Compared to the amount of ground troops only a few Autobots had been flight frames, and their little flight parties had hardly stood a stand against the experienced seeker trines under Starscream's command. His thoughts lingered on trines only a klik before a sharp pain slashed through him, making him wince. He banished the memory then and forced himself to concentrate. Sitting still didn't do him any favors.

The week went by fast, too fast for Starscream's liking. But Knockout seemed to be doing well and making a sweet amount of credits, a little too much extra considering he too had a minimum wage community service assignment, considering how everyday he carried new things to their apartment that was slowly filling up and starting to look more like a living space in stead of a barren prison cell.

At first Knockout brought them necessities such as much missed fueling cubes (a mismatched set), berth covers and sheets and towels (all of them smelled strange and used), and two pillows (even Starscream couldn't complain about those). After those he started to bring in little goods like bottles of flavored coolants, a bottle of high-grade, and even fresh energon fudge candy, and finally on the fifth solar cycle of the week, a suspiciously well secured bag that held a datapad and two and half small computers. 

“Here you go,” Knockout said and winked as he handed over one of the computers.

Starscream accepted it with narrowed optics. “What's this for?”

Knockout smiled wickedly and shrugged. “I thought you might want one, and I only need one anyway. This third one is missing its central processing unit and some screws, but it's good spare parts.” 

Starscream turned the compact little machine over in his servos, still doubtful no matter how casual Knockout was trying to play it. “Where did you get these?”

Knockout shrugged again. “I dealt a few favors and took these in exchange. Maybe it's better if you don't ask too many questions about it, huh?”

Starscream had never liked it when people refused to give him information, and he decided then and there to take the computer meticulously apart and put it back together, then wipe it and wipe it again and tamper with the base coding as much as he had skills for, just in case, since he still hadn't figured out the motive behind Knockout's surprising request to invite him to live with him. The whole ordeal was suspicious. Knockout wasn't a people-pleaser so Starscream didn't buy that the medic had taken pity on him or submitted under pressure. On top of that, Starscream had noticed that Knockout appeared to be more cheerful than he had been aboard the Nemesis, but he just didn't know why.

Starscream had a gnawing feeling the medic was playing some sort of a practical joke on him, but he hadn't figured out how. There was nothing funny about this situation, quite the opposite: Knockout could have had all this space for himself, and considering the amount of stuff he managed to get his servos on he didn't need a second rent-payer either.   
The building was clearly built with grounders in mind, no matter what multicultural nonsense bots were favoring these days. And even though Starscream fit to walk in the hallways with his full wingspan extended if he so fancied, it still was humiliating to walk on streets – since he couldn't just dive into the air traffic in a city that wasn't Vos – go through the ground-level door and use an elevator to get on the right floor. But somehow it was hard to believe Knockout in some way enjoyed watching him crawl on the ground; on the contrary, Knockout didn't appear to take note of anyone's frame type, and Starscream was just another bot to him. 

But all the mysteries and social troubles and boredom were nothing compared to the feeling Starscream woke up to the morning he was supposed to travel to downtown and visit Megatron. 

He arrived at his destination precisely half a cycle before the appointed time, checked the information once more and walked into the building. 

The lobby wasn't too fancy, but it existed and it certainly was a neat one. There was a shiny, patterned floor made out of black and gray stone, a desk and a gateway to the elevators and not much of anything else. Starscream was in no hurry and wandered in the lobby, taking a good, long look around and stopped in front of the front wall to read the floor plan and the listed names of companies that resided in the building. 

The mech behind the desk waited for him patiently, and with just one look Starscream could tell he was a specially trained operative only pretending to be a receptionist, though that didn't take much processing power to deduct. He was clearly armed, sat in his chair way too straight, and there were two more guards just as attentive by the elevators. Their presence didn't make Starscream feel any safer.

“Good day,” he greeted formally, “I am here for a visit.”

The receptionist took one look at his faceplate and turned to tap at the computer on the desk.

“Yes, I see. You are expected.” He set a keycard on the counter. “This will take you to the top floor. You will need this to check out from here.”

“Very well,” Starscream said, picked up the keycard and swiped it by a laser reader in the gate and pushed through. 

There were more than one type of an elevator. Three were clearly meant for bots, and on the opposite wall there were two larger cargo lifts for the storage businesses the floor plan had mentioned. Starscream wondered how many bots working in the building knew what was on the top level. 

He ordered an elevator, stepped in, and had to only push the card into a reader before it started to move. Starscream pulled the keycard out, slipped it into his subspace and turned to look at the lights litting up and blacking out above the doors, counting the floors he passed. It felt like a final countdown for this humiliating deed he couldn't avoid and would have to repeat eventually. He noted that the elevator of this building didn't make a single disharmonious noise unlike the old wreck he had in the building he lived in, and his bitterness only grew.

On the top floor Starscream was waited. When the doors finally slid open he met the same annoying priest who had handed over the assignment information a week ago, smiling a fake smile to him and welcoming him with a gesture of his servo.

“Hello, Starscream. If you don't remember me, I am Downshift, your tutor and counsel through these meetings. Follow me and I'll instruct you through our safety procedures.”

Starscream didn't bother with pleasantries, just followed Downshift down the hallway and to a door that required a key code to open. Downshift tapped in the code but didn't open the door yet, instead turning to Starscream.

“This is very simple. Beyond this door is a room and a chair for you. Don't worry, the prisoner will be behind extra strong glass and he can't make any contact with you, hand anything over or do anything else but talk. You won't have to worry about handling any sort of a phone or pressing any buttons, the glass wall has its own microphone and speaker system built in it. Just go in there, take a seat and chat for about a cycle. There is a clock, so you can follow the time. Good luck.”

Downshift opened the door for Starscream, who hastily straightened his posture and tried to make a good entrance. 

The effort was for nothing, because Megatron wasn't there yet. Starscream found himself in a large space that was almost completely empty. It looked like the entire level wasn't prepared for anything else but these meetings. There was no pavement on the concrete, no disguising the structures, or any permanent looking walls, only the hallway he had just came from. In the back there was one door and around it a stern glass cubicle that created one smallish room, completely sealed from the rest of the space. There were two black chairs, one on the each side of the glass. 

Starscream took a seat and meticulously arranged his legs in a comfortable but formal pose, forced his wings to perk up and look convincingly confident but not in a too intimidating way. He flicked imaginary dirt off his plating and regretted he hadn't asked Knockout if he had saved his rotary buffer along with his medical instruments. Starscream hadn't had the access to wash-racks in a while, and his finish was a far cry from the exceptionally prim shine it had always been while he had served aboard the Nemesis.

Mentally Starscream chanted to himself, trying to boost his own confidence and mood and banish self-doubt and a cold fluttering that he knew was fear but refused to recognize as such. He knew he looked exactly like he lived – modest – but he wouldn't give Megatron the satisfaction to see his mood down as well.

Finally the door in the cubicle opened and Megatron stepped in. The former warlord was still as intimidating as ever, no less terrifying and no less powerful no matter the time he had spent in shackles and behind locked doors. Megatron filled the cubicle up in a way that made the glass cage look small and fragile instead of making him look trapped and harmless.

Megatron's red optics landed on Starscream, and when they locked gazes neither one backed down. 

Megatron pushed the chair aside with his pede and refused to sit down. Starscream refused to look intimidated and remained seated.

“My former Lord Megatron,” Starscream said as calmly as he could manage. “You don't look well.”

“I still function, Starscream, and I will be victorious in the end. This phase will pass, as do all things,” Megatron said, snorting, and measured Starscream up with his gaze. “You don't look so well yourself. Leadership doesn't appear to suit you after all.”

Starscream felt a sting in his spark. For a brief moment, a stellar cycle ago, he had reached his greatest dream, his only dream, but held onto it only mere klikcycles. “Decepticons are no more. Even you can't delude yourself enough to miss that kind of a piece of news.”

“I did not, indeed. But the Council can call us what they like or not call at all, the spirit still lives on,” Megatron said with such confidence that Starscream found it laughable. 

He showed it, and with a shake of his helm and a smirk on his faceplate said: “I wonder if that's true. With their oh so powerful leader gone, locked up and put into a shackle again, all sorts of surprising things might happen!”

Megatron stared at him in silence, a shadow of wrath passing in his optics. The stare was dangerous and Starscream felt a chill going down his spinal strut even though he knew he was safe with the glass separating them.

“I will rise again, Starscream. You of all bots should know what I am capable of. And that I always keep my word,” Megatron said, his voice dangerously smooth. 

Starscream pushed his chin up and yanked his wings higher. “You said it yourself: All things pass. Haven't you thought it might be your time, old mech?”

Megatron flashed him a side of his sharp dentae. “Just watch out for yourself, Starscream. May I remind you that your position close to me was the only thing that kept the fanatics from putting a knife into your back for your treacherous ways? Even if I fade, you will be offlined and dumped into a road ditch long before that.”

“You can't threaten me from there, Megatron,” Starscream said coolly, emphasizing the lack of a title before the designation.

Megatron picked up on that, threw his helm back and laughed. “You think the loss of my armies and followers insult me, Starscream?! Unlike _you_ , I don't need anyone to lick the floor beneath my pedes to know who I am and what I can do! I am still Megatron of Kaon, and I know what my accomplishments are. Those who forget are the fools.”

Starscream felt a wave of bitterness and didn't really know why. He caught his wings drooping and hurried to pull them back up again, but the sour taste in the back of his intake burned and made one corner of his lipplate twitch compulsively. “You are so sure you know everything, aren't you?” he snarled in a shrieky voice, anger heeding his words. “You take everyone's support for granted! You still fancy yourself as the great liberator and the noble warrior, don't you?! Well your downfall tells a tale how right you were!”

Megatron raised an optic ridge and huffed in dismissal. He crossed his arms across his chassis and smirked lightly, and that expression made Starscream feel like he had been spat at.

“Soundwave turned his back on you! Even your precious, loyal Soundwave saw how astray you had gone, electrocuted you and handed the command to me!” 

The smirk on Megatron's face fell and a new wave of wrath appeared, and again he looked as terrifying as he did in Starscream's all too fresh memories, but at least he took Starscream seriously again, and the seeker hated himself for savoring that. 

“And what did you do with that command, hm? Remind me, be so kind,” Megatron whispered, silky smooth and leaning forward, his helm tilted and deep red optics piercing Starscream.

The seeker didn't answer for a while. He knew fully well what he had done. He had been so tired, so done with the war, so done with all the fighting. It had all been such a stupid, useless thing to do when their home was pulsing with life around them, slowly repairing itself and welcoming them all back. He had been so sure and confident with his decision then.

“I surrendered,” Starscream forced himself to say.

Megatron smirked again, the whole expression radiating mockery. “A surprise to no one.” 

Starscream sprang up from his seat. The chair fell clattering on the floor. He trembled with anger, he felt it like a boiling liquid inside himself and wanted nothing more than to let all of it out. But there was no outlet, no chance to do anything about it, and so he turned around on his heels and stormed out of the room before Megatron had a chance to yell anything even more stinging after him. 

The time wasn't quite up when Starscream appeared back to the elevators, and the annoyingly calm and smiling Downshift informed him he wasn't permitted to leave quite yet, but thankfully he didn't try to make him go back in there. Starscream didn't know what he would have done if he had tried, but just standing there so full of hurt and anger and trying not to stomp and pace was almost equally terrible.

Finally the cycle had gone past, and a door next to the one Starscream had gone through opened. Ultra Magnus stepped out, turned to wave one last time before turning his back and calmly shutting the door.

Starscream had completely forgotten that the Autobots were doing the same thing as the Decepticons, and appearing so shabby and upset before the enemy made matters even worse.

Downshift, the idiot, just smiled at them both and spoke with that infuriatingly soft and understanding tone all priests used: “That was the first appointment. I hope it went well for both of you. Unless you have any questions or comments, I'll let you go on your ways now.”

“This is a quite well organized system. I have no further questions,” Ultra Magnus said, overtly professional and dry. 

At least the circus was over.  
To make his dismal day even worse, Starscream had to go back to the lobby in the same elevator with the Autobot Commander, and even though Ultra Magnus didn't pay him any attention, not even a glance, Starscream still felt like he was openly stared at while shivering and trying to hold back undignified tears of rage. 

The way home felt longer than the other way around only mere two cycles ago, but the shabby apartment building was more than a welcome sight this time. The elevator rattled just as much with only one passenger as with two, and before the front door Starscream had troubles with the keycard when at first he tried to jam it in upside down before realizing his mistake. 

Knockout was home when Starscream slammed the front door shut behind him, and lifted his gaze from the computer screen. 

“Oh, you're back!” the medic greeted. “Do you want energon?”

“No! I don't want anything! Leave me alone!” Starscream snapped, stomped straight into the berthroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

“I take it didn't go very well?” Knockout called after him, his voice careful and reserved.

Starscream threw himself on his padding and buried his faceplate into a pillow. “No, it didn't! I hate him! I hate this city and everyone in it!” he yelled and immediately after feared Knockout was going to crack a joke about it. When nothing came, Starscream was disappointed and even more angry that he didn't have an excuse to take his frustration out on his roommate. 

Starscream lay on his mattress, nuzzled his faceplate against the pleasantly cool pillow that currently was the only thing in the whole world he didn't loathe with all his spark, and huffed and puffed in his anger that threatened to suffocate him. 

All he had now - the apartment, his paying job, Knockout's easy friendship, his freedom to roam about and do things at his own time - felt like nothing. Megatron might have not had any of those, he might have been a sad old washed up gladiator and a failed revolutionary locked up with his archenemy, but he still had that easy smirk and that confidence, and he still made Starscream feel like he was nothing. 

Starscream pulled the pillow against his chassis and hugged it tightly. It would have been wonderful to crawl to an actual living being for comfort, but even that was gone for him now. The thought made the lingering bitterness in the back of his intake even sourer. 

He heard Knockout's light steps from the living room. They came closer and stilled on the other side of the berthroom door, where the mech stayed. Starscream didn't know if he wanted Knockout to stay away or come in. 

The silence stretched on, and eventually Knockout turned and walked away without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starscream, my babby, my bundle of problems and faulty coping methods. Oh, poor him.  
> But he lives! He may be forced in the same room with Megatron, but there are safety measures to protect his delicate neck. Though Megatron isn't just a dangerous bot with weapons and fists, he's also smart and can batter people with words, so you all who worried in the comments would Starscream die are probably not too relieved. :P
> 
> Wish Knockout good luck, by the way!


	17. New age, new troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for an update! Thank you all for your kudos and comments. It's been really fun to hear your opinions and feelings and chat a bit, and thanks for those who reached me through Tumblr as well! 
> 
> Also shout out to my betareader for proofreading in the middle of an exam week. Uni is kicking both of us but love for robots brings us strength. 
> 
> This time our heroes contemplate how trouble finds you in different forms, and what has transformed and what has been lost.

Not far from the city central there was a busy and popular drink shop, located on the tenth floor of a beautiful building with large windows. The tenth floor was a bridge level, a crossing point between four other blocks, its walls open and two roads and walking lanes in metal and glass tunnels taking people over the busy street below. The roads connected in a traffic circle inside the building, and among the traffic signs and guidance stances was the drink shop.

The shop in question had a small space for the business, and most of the tables were outside on the street. There was much noise and busy bots around, but the drink shop had already gained a reputation with their house brews, sweet drinks and slush desserts so it had plenty of business and their location was viewed more as convenient than noisy or uncomfortable.

But the group of Autobots hadn't picked the place because of the shaved ice but specifically because of the noise. 

Ratchet was already sitting in one of the largest tables outside with a small simple drink of strong energon between his servos and watching the current of bots drifting by even though it wasn't the agreed time. He was irritated and anxious and barely awake, having sacrificed recharging time for grading quizzes, and waiting for others was already testing his nerves even though it was his own fault for having arrived early. He wished the strong brew would boost his energy levels.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack came by a few klikcycles early, both of them straight from work with dirty paintjobs, and while they were inside ordering, Ultra Magnus arrived.

Ultra Magnus was the mech Ratchet was looking forward to seeing the most, and he perked up the moment the larger mech walked to the table.

“Ah, good day, Ultra Magnus,” Ratchet greeted.

Ultra Magnus nodded. “Doctor.”

“Wheeljack and Bulkhead are inside getting themselves something to drink. Arcee, Bumblebee and Smokescreen have yet to appear,” Ratchet said.

Ultra Magnus nodded again, this time signaling understanding. “There's still some time before they are late. I might get myself some fuel too, if you will excuse me for a moment, doctor.”

“Of course,” Ratchet said, and Ultra Magnus stepped inside the busy drink shop. 

While he was inside, Arcee pushed her way through the crowded walk lane with the two younger mechs in her wake. Her face lit up when she spotted Ratchet in the table, and the trio made their way over.

“Arcee, it's been a while,” Ratchet greeted warmly and got up to give the small femme a hug.

“Hello, Ratchet, how are you?” Arcee asked him with a gentle smile and returned the gesture.

“I'm good, thank you. Do you want to order anything? Everyone else is already here,” Ratchet suggested as Smokescreen and Bumblebee sat down heavily on the seats nearest to them.

“Actually... Yes. Yes, I'll go get us something to drink,” Arcee said, glancing at Smokescreen and Bumblebee who seemed to be in great need of fuel but hardly had the energy to squeeze into the shop to get some. Arcee threw a half-hearted smile at Ratchet. “I might as well buy something good for myself too, considering I spent six cycles in a line yesterday to get a credit card and an account.”

“Good for you,” Ratchet congratulated and watched Arcee wander in to the shop. He turned his attention to the two young mechs, and found that despite his exhaustion it was easy to smile warmly at them both. “And how are you two holding up?”

Smokescreen rolled his helm and groaned. “Cleaning duty is so boooriing!”

Bumblebee beeped in agreement, half laying on the table. 

“I never thought bots could be so messy,” Smokescreen continued. “I mean... How do you even spill that much oil and energon?! One minicon could just lick the floor of any staircase and be completely fueled up!”

“Come now... It isn't that bad,” Ratchet tried to calm them with a sympathetic smile. “It could be worse. At least you're together, you get paid and you don't have office jobs. Cleaning might be tough, but I can't imagine either one of you in an office!”

“Yeah, that's for sure...” Smokescreen sighed, leaning his chin onto his palm. Bumblebee sighed and mirrored his pose.

The rest of their group emerged from the drink shop, everyone with at least one cup or cube in servo and trying to avoid all the passersby and dodge the tables and chairs on their path to get everything to their table without spilling anything.

“There we go,” Arcee said and set down her bearings, one tall hot cup of oil and two bowls of frozen energon slush for Bumblebee and Smokescreen, who perked up when they saw their snacks. Arcee sat next to them, Bulkhead carefully settled on a wobbly seat at the far end of the table, Wheeljack slumped down next to Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus pulled up a chair at the head of the table.

“Isn't it a bit early for high-grade?” Arcee asked Wheeljack, who narrowed his optics and pulled his cube closer to his chassis.

“I have a tough job. Don't judge,” he begrudgingly defended himself while trying to hide the cube in his servos. 

“No one's judging you, Jackie,” Bulkhead said with a kind voice from the other end of the table, tilting his oil cup and sloshing its contents around. 

Wheeljack looked like he was about to snap something, but Ratchet interrupted him before he got any further than opening his intake: “So, Ultra Magnus, how is Optimus?”

The main reason they were all there had been brought up and it gained everyone's attention in a klik. All gazes turned to Ultra Magnus, who in turn seemed to have no intentions of speaking before he had gotten the sweetener and crystal crumbs mixed into his drink. He stirred the cup, clinked the spoon against the edge of the cup and took the first sip.

“Optimus sends his regards and assures he is perfectly alright,” he finally said.

A collective sigh of relief was breathed.

“And has he scrapped Megatron already?” Smokescreen eagerly asked, his lipplates and glossa blue from the dessert. 

“Of course not,” Ultra Magnus said. “Optimus does his everything to maintain the peace. He informed me that the problem with Megatron's presence is currently on hold. He has managed to appeal to his Kaonian pride and convince Megatron that considering the official status of their relationship it would be dishonorable to harm him.”

Ratchet gave a dismissive snort.

“So they share the space and avoid any kind of contact with each other,” Ultra Magnus concluded. 

They were all quiet for a moment, stirring and sipping their drinks. 

Arcee raised her optic ridges, looking skeptic. “That's all?”

Ultra Magnus looked thoughtful. “Optimus was more interested in the progression of our society and our wellbeing than he was in informing me of everything that had happened to him. I understood there wasn't much worth reporting anyway, so I didn't pry.”

“Of course he's concerned with others!” Ratchet abruptly said. “As if he'd tell anyone if something was the matter!”

Smokescreen and Bumblebee exchanged a worried glance. 

“My turn: When?” Bumblebee asked. 

“After Bulkhead. Four weeks from now, but don't worry, I'll take your regards when I go there next week,” Arcee answered with a reassuring tone and gave Bumblebee's arm a pat.

“Word, Arcee,” Bulkhead said, smiling and toasted to her direction. “Optimus is gonna be just fine, we've all seen him make it through insane scrapstorms! And what's Buckethead gonna do if he won't use his fists? Annoy him to death?”

“Good one, Bulk,” Wheeljack snickered, toasted his friend and gulped down half of his cube.

Ratchet looked very displeased at the joke. “This is serious!” he reminded them all. 

“No one's saying this isn't, Ratchet, but what can we do from here?” Arcee said gently to the medic despite looking a bit anxious herself. It wasn't like her to sit still and idle if someone needed her, and Ratchet related to that.

“Well I trust Optimus. He's gonna figure something out and handle this!” Smokescreen said confidently, but inspired little to no enthusiasm. 

“Yeah, the kid has a point,” said Bulkhead, the only one who shared the optimism. 

The hardest part for them all now was to do nothing. They didn't even have the means to reach Optimus to ask for themselves how he was doing, and the radio silence felt equally bad as being useless did.

“Did anyone watch the bonding ceremony broadcast?” Ultra Magnus asked.

“Yeah, we did, on a public screen at a bar around the corner,” Wheeljack said, gesturing between himself and Bulkhead. “Man, it was so weird to see that.”

“Yeah... Like one of those dreams you have when you've been drinking,” Bulkhead agreed with a frown on his faceplate.

“It was absurd, that's what it was. If it didn't mean Optimus would be imprisoned and trapped with that monster, I would have laughed,” Arcee said with a frown of her own. 

“That is not what I meant,” Ultra Magnus patiently cleared. “Did you pay attention to the vows?”

“Optimus was very diplomatic,” Ratchet cut in defensively. “He knows what's at stake and he followed the will of the Council like any proper Prime would have!”

“But we knew that. What about Megatron's part?” Ultra Magnus said.

“The way he used the opportunity to spout out propaganda?” said Smokescreen.

All optics turned to Smokescreen, every single pair full of surprise. 

Smokescreen looked flustered by the attention and hurried to explain: “What?! I mean... I've seen and heard about the stuff he pulled during the war! And still he acted all humble and all! Come one, that much contradiction practically screams propaganda, you don't need to be very sharp to pick up on that!”

“Smokescreen is correct,” Ultra Magnus said and gave the young speedster one of his rare smiles. “What I am worried about is that whether that little piece of propaganda is going to appeal to nostalgia of the Decepticon refugees.” 

“Who cares what some lousy old cons get off to?” Wheeljack snorted and downed the rest of his cube. He was acting gloomy and restless in a slightly disoriented manner, which implied the cube of high-grade he had just downed wasn't the first one today.

“We care because Megatron is using his position to stir up his most extremist followers, and we can't know what that kind of bots will do with the blessing of their leader – a leader who is absent and can only instigate, not control them,” Ultra Magnus explained. 

There was a moment of heavy silence, and the noise of the traffic and the constant blabber of the crowd around them suddenly seemed louder. The point Ultra Magnus had just dropped on them had instigated a fear of the kind that caught you only in the dark cycles of the night because otherwise you wouldn't dare to think about it. And Ultra Magnus was not a mech known to make exaggerated speculations just to have something interesting to say.

Arcee leaned in closer: “Have you heard something alarming?”

“I haven't made direct contact with a Decepticon aside from riding the same elevator down with a very agitated Starscream just a cycle ago, but that doesn't mean the Decepticons are done. Megatron clearly isn't,” Ultra Magnus replied, leaning closer as well.

“That mad mech won't be done before he's offline,” Ratchet grunted, drumming the tabletop with his digits. 

“My assistant Magenta has made a few friends who are former Decepticons. If you recall Glassrain and Ground Zero from the refugee camps, those are them. I encouraged her to ask them to tell her if they heard anything, and even though they seem to have fallen out of favor due to§ allowing Infra live, they still hear many things an Autobot wouldn't,” Ultra Magnus said with a low voice, and Arcee, Ratchet and Wheeljack all nodded in agreement with faces like they were in a battle briefing. Bulkhead and Bumblebee averted their gazes from the group, both a bit dejected. 

“That's stupid,” Smokescreen suddenly said. All optics were again on him, but this time he looked back at them all with a stubborn expression. “I know some former Decepticons too, you know. There are a couple of them in the same cleaning unit with me and Bee, and guess what, they are just as sick of it as we are! And Chromehook and Collision and Barbreaker all served aboard the Nemesis! They were that close to Megatron, and they're still sick of fighting!”

“Oh well... We know Autobots are capable of change, so why not a few Decepticons too,” Wheeljack grunted and rolled his optics, his lipplates settling into a harsh line. 

“Jackie... Don't take it personally, she's still a good bot!” Bulkhead sighed.

“Who?” Arcee asked, her gaze jumping between the two former Wreckers. 

“Override,” Bulkhead replied. “She was the Captain of the Red Star, a legendary Autobot, but she's bonded to a Blue-Flamer now.”

Ultra Magnus gave Wheeljack a sharp look. “I hope you haven't been bothering Override because of her bondmate. You never even had the displeasure of meeting Stormsplitter in combat, and I happen to know that the Blue Flame disbanded a long ago, just like the Wreckers. You should put your outdated grudge behind you.” 

“I haven't been bothering anyone, everyone's bothering me,” Wheeljack muttered under his breath, gazing longingly at his empty cube like he could wish it full again. 

Ultra Magnus didn't take the bait but let Wheeljack be, and instead turned back to the rest of the group, and especially the still frowning Smokescreen. “Nothing has happened yet, but Megatron is still a player in the game, and we must be careful. For the sake of Cybertron and the civilians.”

Bulkhead chuckled. “Not much civilians left, don't you think?”

“Actually... With the Red Star Colony, bots who have been civilians for hundreds of thousands of stellar cycles make up a significant portion of the planet's population now,” Ratchet said, the grim expression on his face turning grimmer by each word.

“Wonder how they'd feel if a new conflict should arise,” Arcee muttered against the rim of her cup. 

“Oh... Right... Forgot about that...,” Bulkhead said, the smile vanishing from his faceplate. Even though he had little understanding of the complex system that was politics, he did understand bots' sparks and knew that those who had rebuilt a peaceful life wouldn't be too eager to return to war, and that would leave them vulnerable if something were to happen.

“The important thing is to keep a watchful optic out for things and prevent any relapses back into the old rivalry,” Ultra Magnus said. “We can start by letting go of old grudges,” he added and looked pointedly at Wheeljack, who rolled his optics at him. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Wheeljack huffed.

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics at him, and Wheeljack raised his optics ridges back at him. “What? It's not like you're my commanding officer anymore, I can do whatever I want!”

Bulkhead looked worried and hurriedly cut in to explain: “Jackie and I had a really long day at work.”

“Don't make excuses for him, Bulkhead,” Ultra Magnus said. He might not have been an officer anymore but he certainly sounded like one.   
Smokescreen and Bumblebee exchanged worried looks, and Arcee crossed her arms. 

“Yeah, Bulk, don't come in between us, we can sort this out,” Wheeljack said without looking away from Ultra Magnus. His optics blazed in a way that suggested he would gladly pick a fight and go through with it, and Ultra Magnus wasn't going to back down either.

“Stop it, you two!” Ratchet snapped and slammed a servo on the table, finally tired of watching from the sidelines and having the conversation derailed. “We came here to discuss Optimus' situation!”

“And: Say hello,” Bumblebee piped up.

Ratchet spared the younger mechs a gentle look despite all his annoyance. “And... Yes, to say hello to each other,” he admitted, “but also to discuss Optimus! I don't care if the political bond of Override and Stormsplitter solved things back then, it's definitely not going to solve anything with Optimus and _Megatron_ of all people! This peace is more fragile than the Council even realizes!”

A round of agreeing mumbling and nodding occurred, and Ratchet was a bit calmer for having the support. Ultra Magnus turned his attention to the doctor instead of Wheeljack, who slumped further down on his seat. 

“We are all worried about Optimus, Ratchet, but there's not much we can do,” Arcee calmly said what everyone, even Ratchet was thinking. “We can give him our support now, but if we want to actually do something we'll have to wait until the house arrest is lifted.”

“Arcee: Correct. But: Optimus strong. Worry: for nothing,” Bumblebee signaled with confidence.

“Yeah, he's a Prime! Megatron won't stand a chance,” Smokescreen joined his friend, somewhat relieved that someone else had faith as well. 

Ratchet muttered something but mostly to himself, and everyone present had known him long enough not to ask him to repeat himself. 

Their conversation shifted into lighter topics after that. Everyone got their turn to tell about their day to day life and how it was going, and they all exchanged addresses so they could visit each other any time they pleased. They all were ordered to stay in Iacon and no one said they wanted to leave anyway, some out of a genuine wish to stay there and some of them out of worry of shaking the foundations of their small support network. At least this way they could stay close to each other and see things through properly. 

After all their cups and cubes and glasses were empty they had no excuse to keep the table for themselves anymore, so they had to part ways. Bumblebee and Smokescreen were off to a race in a newly opened track in the north side of the city, Ultra Magnus had to get back to work, and Bulkhead and Wheeljack were off to a bar somewhere in the southern district. 

Arcee lingered, and so did Ratchet. They said goodbyes to everyone else and started to slowly wander towards the bridge together. 

“We all really are worried about Optimus. We all care,” Arcee gently assured the older bot, who let out a heavy sigh. 

“I know that, Arcee,” Ratchet said. “But, pardon me, none of you knew Optimus before he was a Prime. It was supposed to be just for the war time, but now the higher-ups have decided it's to be so until the end of his days!”

“Being Prime is not easy, we know. But Optimus has changed during the war, as have all of us,” Arcee replied, reaching to put a reassuring servo on Ratchet's arm. “He's strong, Ratchet. He will be alright, he always will. Maybe...” Then Arcee paused and hesitated.

Ratchet turned to glance at the femme by his side, frowning. “Maybe what?”

Arcee swallowed and looked a bit remorseful about bringing the subject up, maybe sad too, but continued: “Maybe there's no returning to the way he was before the war. Maybe that bot you knew doesn't... exist anymore. I know I have changed. Everyone I knew before the war has, or they're gone.”

Her words were heavy and made her sound a bit choked up, but her voice didn't break. Ratchet had to look away. They were silent, and the noise of the traffic rang in their audio feed.

“Leaders are so distant,” Ratchet said when the silence finally became unbearable. “When he was simply an archivist with a normal life he was quiet and reserved, but now as a Prime, as strong and determined and out-spoken as he is, he's somehow even more so.”

“I'm sure he'll come around,” Arcee comforted him. “He doesn't have to fight anymore. He'll open up again once he gets used to not being responsible for everyone.”

“I certainly hope you're right,” Ratchet sighed. “I wish Jazz was here. He always had a way of getting Orion out of his shell.”

“An old friend?”

“Yes. Optimus' oldest friend, in fact. The war took them in different directions. I don't even know if Jazz is still online, to be perfectly honest.”

“Then let's hope for the best,” Arcee said. 

The mood threatened to shift into a depressing one, and when Ratchet suddenly became aware of it he reset his vocalizer and straightened his posture. Arcee still had a servo on his arm, but now let it drop.

“So,” Ratchet said, trying to sound more cheerful than he actually was, “I see you've kept an optic out for our scout and rookie.” 

Arcee smiled and laughed a bit. “Well, yes. They were both created during the war, and neither knows nothing about civilian life. Someone had to show them how to use credits, open a bank account, guide them through a grocery store and explain how to rent an apartment. Optimus isn't here to look out for them, so I took over.”

For a moment Ratchet felt a sudden burst of guilt and embarrassment for not realizing how lost Bumblebee and Smokescreen would be in a world that didn't rotate around blowing things up and shooting bots wearing purple badges. He had just assumed that of course they'd be okay, they were young and resourceful, and left it at that. 

“Optimus will be happy to hear that,” Ratchet said, pushing his own emotions aside for now. He'd make his indifference up for the young mechs somehow later. 

“I'll say hello for you,” Arcee promised. Ratchet felt a bit better.

*

“Jackie, you should really slow down,” Bulkhead practically begged as he watched Wheeljack down his fourth cube of high-grade just as fast as the three before that.

“Don't patronize me, Bulk! I know what I'm doing,” Wheeljack snapped back, slurring a bit and already gesturing to the barkeep to fill his cube up again. 

Bulkhead closed his intake and swallowed his objections despite all his worry. He was still at his first cube and wasn't going to order a second one, but Wheeljack apparently was determined to drink himself into oblivion regardless of his small salary and the rent he'd have to pay. 

“Can you believe the Commander!?” Wheeljack suddenly said. “You can just tell he's not a true Wrecker, no matter how he thinks he is! No true Wrecker could ever forgive a bot who on top of being a Con was a _Blue-Flamer_!”

Bulkhead squirmed on his place. “Well... I don't know, Jackie... Maybe she's changed. I mean... If Welder's good enough for Override -”

“She's got a glitch in her system, then!” Wheeljack interrupted and slammed his servo down on the counter. “Fragging cons... Of course they had to try to top us... At least in the Wreckers we got skill and precision, all Blue Flame got was just pure insanity!”

“They were a response team! They had to have their screws a bit loose to come and face us, eh?” Bulkhead tried to joke, hoping that Wheeljack would cheer up and return his smile and stop being so gloomy and angry. 

“You never saw her!” Wheeljack insisted, his frown deepening. “You think biting a shrapnel is something?” he pointed at the scars marking his faceplate. “Well I dragged Rotorstorm to safety during the factory raid in Tarn, after he had been in close combat with Welder. I can tell you, she doesn't have that nickname for nothing. The sick slagger had taken her blowtorch and sealed Rotorstorm's optics and half of his intake shut! That kind of a femme doesn't change just like that.”

Bulkhead didn't know what to say to that, so he averted his optics and stared down into his cube. He could have reminded Wheeljack that he had been a part of that factory raid as well. He could have told Wheeljack that it had been Bulkhead who had talked to Rotorstorm the entire time it took them to get to the rendezvous point to keep him calm, and held him when the energon from his disrupted tubing had slowly engorged in the back of his helm and flooded his processor until he had gone quiet. But Wheeljack didn't seem to be in the mood for remembering any more deaths, plus he was volatile when intoxicated and already in a bad mood, and all he needed was an excuse to blow out some steam. Bulkhead didn't want to be that excuse, so he remained silent. 

“Damn that sadistic, torch-wielding, sparkless drone to the Pit,” Wheeljack mumbled to himself and gulped down his just refilled cube in one go. 

“Okay, Jackie, that's the last one,” Bulkhead said and reached over to take the cube from his friend. “We have work in the morning, and we were supposed to have just one cube each anyway.”

“Whatever, I hate working in construction,” Wheeljack moaned when his cube was confiscated. 

Bulkhead stared at his friend in disbelief. “You used to love working there!”

“Well now I hate it,” Wheeljack muttered, leaning on the counter until he was almost lying on it. “It's repetitive, boring and useless. I don't even know what we're building there, I just set foundations and never know what for. How fragging depressing is that?”

Bulkhead was growing restless on top of worried. Wheeljack was definitely not acting like himself, and Bulkhead didn't know why, what was wrong, or what he should or even could do about it. “Come on, Jackie,” he said as kindly as he could without angering Wheeljack any more with his patronizing attitude. “It isn't like that. It's not that bad. You're making a valuable contribution. Think about how many places we wrecked during the war, isn't this more like an opportunity to clean up after a bit?”

“Well I don't care!” Wheeljack snapped, this time loud enough that bots around them turned to look and the barkeep came over.

“You gentlemechs have had enough,” the barkeep said in a low voice, addressing them both but looking more at Wheeljack. Then, to Bulkhead he said: “You, sober one, take your friend out and somewhere to sleep it off.”

“Right away,” Bulkhead said, threw some credits on the counter and started to coax Wheeljack down from the bar stool. “Come on, Jackie, let's get out of here and find another place,” he lied and steadied the shorter mech who swayed dangerously on his pedes. 

“I dunwanna leave yet, I dunwanna recharge,” Wheeljack protested weakly as Bulkhead more or less carried him out of the bar and into the streets. It was dark already, and the city lights shone bright enough to obscure the starry night sky above them. Every week one could see less and less stars.

“You've got to recharge. You can't come to work like that,” Bulkhead argued back and started to drag Wheeljack to the general direction of their home block. “Come on now. If you come with me now, we can go to the Memorial Park in the city center next week and set a prayer bell for Rotorstorm. I know you want to go, and I'll come with you if you just work with me now.”

“Yeah, I wanna go there,” Wheeljack muttered, dragged his pedes some more for a moment but then started to cooperate. “Yeah, okay, sure. Let's do that.” 

It was considerably easier after that point to walk Wheeljack to their block and the apartment building, and Bulkhead thanked Primus quietly in his mind for that. He hadn't realized how overcharged Wheeljack actually had managed to get himself before it was time to walk, and now he bitterly regretted not stepping in earlier. 

Luckily the challenges of the day stopped there, and they got to their building without commotion or incidents. The elevator was a blessing, and Wheeljack even had the keycard to his door with him and in servo when they finally got there. 

Bulkhead set Wheeljack to lean against the wall and swiped the card, then helped his friend inside. 

The apartment was a terrible mess inside. Wheeljack didn't have much furniture, just a low table in the middle of the floor, a padding with a pile of messy covers and no pillow on it, and empty bottles and cubes stacked on the kitchen counter. Sticky leftovers in coolant bottles and oil cans stank, and there were so many of them that the kitchen counter was completely covered in them, and Wheeljack had just continued the collection on the floor next to it.

Bulkhead let Wheeljack fall on the padding on the floor and lingered by and watched how he curled up in the middle of the covers, mumbling something with a remotely content voice before he fell into recharge. Bulkhead stayed for a little while to make sure Wheeljack was alright and listened to the rattling of his vents. For a moment he thought about helping him tidy up the apartment a bit, but it was late and dark and he didn't want to disturb his recharge, so Bulkhead just sneaked out of the door and made a mental note to bring the issue up at some better time.

He just didn't know when - if ever - would be a better time. Bulkhead truly had no idea what was wrong or what to do about it, and he wished he could ask someone for help. As he made his way to his own small but neat apartment he tried to imagine what Optimus would advice him to do. He couldn't come up with anything, and felt even worse than before. Optimus had this amazing ability to think objectively and outside the box, and now he wasn't around or just a commlink away like he had been for centuries. 

Bulkhead laid down on his berth and wondered what he'd answer on his visitation day if Optimus asked him how things were, which lead to thinking would it be selfish to use the time Optimus had for outside contact dwelling in not only his but in Jackie's troubles as well. Optimus was locked up with Megatron, the worst possible company imaginable, there was propaganda floating around and Ultra Magnus was concerned that the peace wouldn't last after all. Compared to these things, Jackie's boredom and drinking weren't really that big a problem, and he didn't want to talk about them anyway.

Bulkhead tried to shake all the trivial things and worries he had and get himself to shut his optics and boost his energy levels before he'd have to get up and go to work. It was fine, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is what I leave you with, my dear readers. It's fine. Totally fine. A-okay, I promise. Shhh.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading my story! If you liked it, leave a kudos or even a comment if you have thoughts and feelings to share. That would make me super happy, and I promise I won't bite. <3


	18. Before the Council – again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! This is a chapter I've really been looking forward to publishing. I have written parts of this during lectures at my university instead of taking notes. I hope it was worth it. :D
> 
> Anyway, in this chapter we return to the original source of all that is wrong in the world. There's still fighting left to do.

Megatron was in a bad mood. He despised confined spaces, overly neat rooms and isolation, so being imprisoned in a ridiculous penthouse with Optimus Prime could have been the paragon of a cruel punishment for him. 

Almost three weeks in now and he was already bored out of his mind, restless and tense like a string in a bow. Nothing helped. He flexed his arms and servos, pushed himself through endless sets of combat moves and worked on his stamina with challenging static poses, sometimes through the better part of a night cycle. But his restlessness didn't go anywhere, it only increased. He had way too much time to think and theorize and thus dwell in what a humiliation being trapped here in this luxurious titanium cage was, what an insult to his character and image, and not before long his restlessness was accompanied by anger. 

The presence of Optimus didn't help the matters, quite the contrary. The Prime respected the limits they had agreed upon and didn't cross into Megatron's side of the apartment or use the wash-rack when it wasn't his turn, but avoiding the Prime completely was impossible. Optimus might have not said much, but he had an infuriating habit of watching Megatron sometimes, and every time Megatron caught him in the act he had this certain calm and somewhat sad look in his blue optics. Megatron couldn't stand it, it looked too much like pity, and he'd rather go back into the Pits of Kaon and eat its sand than let an ignorant, sanctimonious, naive idealist like Optimus Prime pity him. 

At least Optimus had enough personality left in him that he didn't try to make casual conversation with him. Megatron feared that he would rethink how much he appreciated his honor if Optimus were to try to sort things out, make amends or talk about their feelings or some other ridiculous sentimental scrap like that. 

But Megatron watched Optimus too, sometimes. He was truly and utterly bored, and the monotony of imprisonment with nothing to do would eventually get him if he didn't do anything, and looking at Optimus made him feel something at least. It always had. Megatron had sweet, glorious memories from various battlefields where he had spotted Optimus Prime, and every time his spark had jumped in excitement with the promise of a good, interesting battle. Each time he had met Optimus had held the possibility of being The One Last Stand, the battle that would finally solve everything in one way or another, the ultimate, final climax. Some of that feeling lingered even now. The sight of his oldest enemy – his mortal enemy – made his spark jump and a hot flash of will to battle flicker alive. He felt every single solar cycle he had known and hated Optimus Prime in every last place of his physical being, every time he had chased after him and finally caught up, and how they had raged and fought like two beings possessed. 

But this wasn't the battlefield. Megatron was far away from the glory and the pleasure of battles, and now there was just this confined apartment that had shiny metal drawers and kitchen counters and wash-rack vanities made out of stone, all of those things he had never needed. The only source of real joy was the echo of the wonderfully horrible past every time he felt when he set his gaze on Optimus.

Megatron suspected he looked just as out of place to Optimus as Optimus did to him. This clinical, domestic environment was completely new to him, and Optimus looked just as much of a war machine to him as he felt. Everything was unreal and strange.

On the second solar cycle of the third week Optimus and Megatron happened to have their morning fuel at the same time in the kitchen, and Optimus spoke to him for the first time in solar cycles.

“We are to meet the Council today,” Optimus said.

Megatron turned to give him a questioning look over the rim of his cube. “Excuse me?”

“Yes. Downshift sent the message. I take it you haven't checked your mail,” Optimus said, annoyingly neutral. “We still have a cycle and a half before the Council's Security come and fetch us to somewhere called 'The Hall of High Powers' where we meet all eight council members and have a briefing.”

Secretly Megatron was thrilled to get out of the apartment, but traveling with Optimus to meet the Council gave him a very unpleasant deja vu. “So they're going to drive us? They don't trust us to walk on the streets without being shot, I presume.”

“That wouldn't be overly far fetched. Perhaps they want to 'control our outside communications',” Optimus suggested while sipping his energon.   
Megatron snorted and walked out of the kitchen.

More control. Megatron hated every single klik of his current life, but at least meeting the Council would finally give him a clear picture of his enemy.

The feeling of deja vu didn't leave him alone the entire time they traveled to the Hall of High Powers. Fortunately Optimus wasn't too eager to talk to him, so when the security guards showed up to escort them to the subsurface hall and into a vehicle, they walked in silence. Megatron had to admit he was surprised by the lack of stasis cuffs, but at the same time insulted: The Council clearly was going out of their way to signal to him that he was old news and not a threat to them.

The transport vehicle looked the same as the one they had arrived in, and since it didn't have any windows they weren't admiring the street view this time around either. Megatron wondered if people knew it was them in the vehicle, and how many of the ordinary citizens would like to get one or both of them terminated. The thought was followed by an irony-filled realization that they might be protecting each other by staying together, since bots who wanted them both offline were few and far between those who had just one target. 

The Hall of High Powers apparently had a subsurface level as well, and Megatron guessed they were arriving to the destination when the vehicle went down a ramp that was too short and abrupt to be a road intersection. He didn't have a chance to see the building from outside, but considering the old building that had been the headquarters of the government had been a tower and this was a hall, it was probably wide rather than high. 

The vehicle stopped and the guards stepped out, walked around the vehicle and opened up the back to let the cargo out. 

Megatron stood up, as did Optimus. Optimus was sitting closer to the back and stepped out first, and Megatron had some time to resent the serene, proud aura the Prime carried around these days. Optimus stepped down carefully where Megatron just let his pedes drop to the ground, uncaring of the noise he made. 

The guards didn't ask or say anything, simply gestured them to follow and lead the way. 

The deja vu grew stronger as they walked, and finally after a wide staircase they entered the main lobby of the Hall and the feeling blew into full force. The Hall of High Powers had really been a priority in rebuilding. It was evident in the choice of materials and furniture made of stone and metal, the classic statues and pillars and the latest modern mechanical doors, the hologrammatic guide posts and computer stations. The floor was made out of large white and turquoise square tiles and the ceiling arched high like in old temples, and from the lobby there were dozens of large doors leading to different bureaus, wide stairs leading to upper levels and other wings, and the whole place was filled with busy bots running errands and attending to whatever business, carrying huge amounts of datapads and files with them. It was nothing like the former Tower of the High Council, but the same dignified feeling of importance was there all the same.

It was the first time since the bonding ceremony Megatron and Optimus saw that many bots at once, and it was clear that everyone there saw them as well. Everything stood still for a few kliks and the noise dropped significantly and all anyone could do was to stare when the guards led Optimus and Megatron to the lobby and across it.

Megatron didn't see it fit to acknowledge anyone around them but simply kept walking, but he did glance at Optimus by his side to see how the Prime was handling the sudden attention. Optimus was still the picture of calm and collected, keeping his chin up and optics ahead while he strode after the guards who gestured the crowd to give them way - not that it was needed. Megatron was pleased to notice how bots nearly stumbled over themselves to make way for them, and even though the lobby was quite crowded people cleared them a wide passage all the way through. 

Megatron didn't grace the masses with his curiosity, but he had to wonder how many of them had actually ever seen either one of them in real life. Were they even real to most of Cybertronians? How much these people feared them? Hated them?

They walked across the lobby and stepped through a pair of large doors into a hallway that led further inside the building. They passed through two more pairs of doors before the security guards stopped them and turned around.

“You are standing outside the inner sanctum of the Hall of High Powers. The Council resides in the hall beyond this door, and they will receive you shortly,” said one of the guards, and now Megatron looked at the insignificant mech for the first time. Standard size, black and white and with sirens on his shoulder guards. The security still looked the same, even after all these stellar cycles.

The security bots slipped inside the inner sanctum to make the announcements, leaving Megatron and Optimus waiting outside.

“Just like last time,” Megatron muttered from the corner of his intake.

“Don't blow anything up, please,” Optimus muttered coldly back, optics still looking ahead. 

The doors pulled open, and a bot on a low stand before the steps and platform on which the Council's high seats were standing declared to the whole hall: “Stepping before the humble and honorable Council of Cybertron: Optimus Prime and the Primal Spouse Megatron of Kaon!”

A surge of anger hit sparks and flame inside Megatron, but he bit his dentae together and kept his posture straight. The humiliation began the moment he stepped over the doorstep with his pede, but he refused to react before he saw the enemy.

He walked side by side with Optimus across the sanctum and stilled in the middle of the round floor, before the crescent platform and the seated council members up there. Megatron let his optics circle all eight bots seated, memorizing all the faces and waiting to put names to those.

Optimus spoke: “We greet you, honorable Council of Cybertron.”

On the edge of the field of his vision Megatron saw Optimus bowing lightly towards the seats, and the resentment within him grew that much hotter.

The bot seated directly ahead raised their servo in greeting. “You are expected, Lord Prime and Primal Spouse. I am the chairman of this council. My designation is Arc Flame, and I am of Crystal City. Pleased to meet you at last.”

Arc Flame was a noble looking bot. She shone like nothing else in the sanctum, her faceplate, servos and lean thighs were white like a pearl, and her shimmering green and silver plating made curve after curve around her light limbs, her spiky helm was decorated with mirrors, and bright green biolights lit up her sharp wings. Megatron was distantly reminded of the snobbish bravado of Vos. 

To Arc Flame's right sat an orange and blue mech who was larger than anyone else in the Council. He had a clean and bulky frame and so much raw iron in his armor that it was easy to image how he had once been a heavy laborer, later turned into a soldier. His voice was surprisingly smooth without any remains of inhaled coal dust or sand: “I am Hoist of Tyger Pax. Likewise, it is a great pleasure to finally lay optics on our famed Prime.”

Next to Hoist sat a bright red bot who had an old-fashioned soldier's plating and propels around his hiplates. His helm had two curled horns to show aggression and a reflective visor obscuring his optics. “Greeting from me as well. I am Nova of Iacon. You honor us with your presence, honorable Primal Bond.”

The bot sitting on the furthest right seat looked incredibly fragile. Her frame's plating was complex and heavily decorated, entirely white and silver and mirror glass, and her shockingly blue optics didn't seem to focus on anything, but her voice carried clearly like a bell into every corner of the hall. “Hail to you, Primal Bond! Be greeted, Optimus of Iacon and Megatron of Kaon. My designation is Starlight of Crystal City. The Light of Solus blesses us this solar cycle.” 

The turn moved to the bot sitting to Arc Flame's left. A small, colourless femme raised her servo in a greeting. “I welcome you here, Optimus Prime and Megatron of Kaon. Our journey has been long but at last it has ended. My designation is Actinide of Kaon. Primus blesses us at last.”

The mech smirking down at them next to Actinide was far too familiar, but he introduced himself in any case, probably out of spite: “Welcome, honored Prime and his Spouse! I am Ratbat, the eldest member of this Council. And we know each other already, don't we? Blessedly things turned out better than it seemed possible when we last time met like this.”

Megatron barely kept his faceplate neutral. Weaklings hiding behind titles and formalities were one of the things he despised most in the world, and he didn't think there was anything he wouldn't have handed over just so he could get his servos on Ratbat. His upper lipplate twitched, baring the side of his dentae. 

Optimus was already politely looking at the bot next to Ratbat, who spoke: “I, Levitacus of Praxus, welcome the Primal Bond in these great halls as well. This is an honor.” There wasn't much to say about Levitacus. He had the same feeling of nobility as Arc Flame, but with less style and grace. He seemed more like a governing type and more practical than Arc Flame who shone like a polished jewel, but he also had something listless about him. He didn't seem to be all present, but slumped on his seat where others sat straight and leaned his chin on his servo while he regarded their guests.

The last bot of the row was blue like the night sky and much simpler than the rest of the Council. She had a sleek frame but large wings on her back, and she sat on the very edge of her seat and peered down at them with uncovered curiosity that seemed to only have heightened while she had waited for her turn. “Council member Avalon of Vos welcomes and greets you, Lord Prime and Primal Spouse!”

Megatron memorized the designations and put them together with the faces of the Council members. This alone wasn't much, but with amusement he remarked it would be enough to know who to kill. It looked worryingly much like the old High Council he had torn down: A lineup of fancy bots who looked down on him. 

“And what business are we here to attend?” Megatron demanded.

Arc Flame spoke: “You are here to greet us, and we are here to meet you, Primal Spouse Megatron.”

Ratbat smirked wider at the title. 

“And what now? Surely this isn't just a meaningless formality,” Megatron pressed on. Optimus was quiet besides him, content to only observe, or maybe to sulk. Megatron wouldn't put the latter past him. 

“May I remind you that you are formally terminated, Megatron of Kaon. You function because of the Council's mercy alone,” Starlight said with a voice that clanged and echoed. 

“Yes yes, let's not pretend for a moment here, shall we?” Megatron answered, flashing his dentae. “Unless you are recording this so called private meeting for your own purposes I don't see why you want to keep up this act for our sake. So peel the rust off your glossae and speak for real.”

The accusation caused quite a stir among the council members most of whom seemed taken aback by Megatron's insolence. Only Arc Flame, Ratbat and Actinide seemed to be unaffected where others exchanged shocked and disapproving looks and comments.

Then Arc Flame slammed her servo down on the armrest of her seat and silence fell. “Order in the sanctum, please,” she said with a voice which softness was a complete opposite of the harsh gesture. “The Primal Spouse clearly has something he would like to get off his spark, so let's hear him out. Maybe he is displeased with his living arrangements.”

Megatron wasn't about to be swayed or undermined by an attempt to make him look petty or ungrateful. He scoffed. “More like with the company, but suit yourselves. This ridiculous puppet show of yours seems to contradict with your so called free and equal Star Colony you are supposedly building upon.”

“So you object to your title?” Arc Flame asked.

“Among many things,” Megatron growled, “but what I object most to is reducing two living bots into puppets in your own sorry attempt to clean up the mess of a war that went on for million stellar cycles! This insults everything people on both sides fought for!”

Actinide smiled for a klik before she caught herself. Ratbat snorted so loudly it echoed in the hall, and Nova leaned over to Starlight to exchange hushed words. Avalon's wings raised and lowered like a tide, and her expression was deeply thoughtful. 

“You are wrong, Primal Spouse Megatron,” Arc Flame said coldly. “We are not cleaning up. You are.”

All seven other members knocked the armrests of their seats with their knuckles in the sign of agreement. A thin smile visited Arc Flame's lipplates for a klik before it vanished.

“You are both cleaning up the mess you made, and making amends for the sparks your rebellion extinguished,” Arc Flame continued patiently. “If you have any interest in how many exactly that is, then I suggest you visit the Memorial Park in the Central of Iacon. The amount of names carved into the walls and fences and prayer bells left there is, quite frankly, staggering.”

“Bots die in a war,” Megatron answered through his dentae. “And war is what happens when people finally have had enough.”

The shiny and shimmering Chairman was rapidly getting on the same level of loathing in Megatron's book as Ratbat, and that wasn't a low one. The amount of anger he had felt at Optimus' grace and silence was nothing compared to the storm of emotion he was feeling right now under the scrutinizing and infuriatingly calm and chilly optics of the Council members, and the pressure of deja vu was starting to resemble a serious short-circuit in a processor. Optimus' pointed silence next to him was as loud as the dispassionate, condescending words from the Council.

Levitacus spoke next, just as calm and emotionless as Arc Flame: “If you'd like, we can deliver the entire list of charges you were sentenced for. I believe the complete list is finally available. Here in the Council of the new, better and equal Cybertron we aim at transparency in affairs like this.”

He smiled down at Megatron, who glared back like he could kill with his optics. 

“My fellow honored Council members,” Arc Flame spoke and managed to sound almost bored, “it seems to be as we thought. Megatron of Kaon lacks the understanding of the extent of his actions.”

“You can blame the miner's processor,” Ratbat remarked with a light shrug and a smirk.

Megatron felt like he was about to catch on fire. It had been some time since he had felt rage and fury like this, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He was unarmed and the Hall of Great Powers had heavy security. Even he couldn't get too far, and where would he even go if he could?

“Now now,” said Starlight gently, “let's not be so harsh. It takes time to take a punishment and rehabilitate.” 

“You call this rehabilitation?!” Megatron yelled. “This comes closer to programming a drone! This is uncivilized, brutal and tells me everything I need to know of your so called Council! I don't recognize your power or your government, you scum of the old!”

“You, Megatron of Kaon, are no more!” declared Arc Flame. “You have been sentenced to death! You are terminated from the civilization of Cybertron, and you shall use your figurative afterlife as the voices chosen by the people see fit!”

Megatron trembled with rage and stared straight at the Chairman who looked back with as much determination. All other council members sat still, glancing at each other like the situation was more awkward than anything else. 

“You have no voice in this matter. You will suffer for your crimes, and you should be grateful that we have showed this much mercy,” Arc Flame said.

“Oh, I am not dead yet,” Megatron hissed back, “but you're going to wish I was.”

He turned on his heel then and marched out of the inner sanctum, slamming the heavy doors shut behind him. 

He was a tad bit surprised that the security guards didn't try to stop him but simply went with him, escorting him back to the hall below and to the transport vehicle.

The cool temperature on a subsurface level and the distance he had put between himself and the Council helped his temper a bit. The rage that had threatened to cloud his processor cooled down into annoyance and deep resentment as he leaned against the side of the vehicle and went over things he had just learned. It wasn't much, just a list of designations, but that was what he had come for in the first place – not that he had had much of a choice on that. 

What he didn't know what to make of was his new so called title. He had never heard of anyone being referred to as a Primal Spouse before. He wasn't entirely sure if that was because none of the previous Primes had had sparkbonds or because the previous primal spouses were not important enough to get a mention in the history records, but that was irrelevant to him since Megatron had no intention of being remembered as Optimus Prime's spouse anyway. 

Speaking of Optimus, it took him a good while to catch up with him, and when the Prime finally did show up he was wearing his battlemask. 

“You really stayed and enjoyed your visit,” Megatron scoffed when Optimus walked to the vehicle with the rest of the guards, and the security guards spurred into movement again to prepare them for departure.

Optimus didn't spare him a glance but walked right past him and to the back of the vehicle, where one of the guards who had stayed behind with him opened the doors for him with a bow. “My Prime,” the guard muttered under his breath like he was afraid what would happen after the gesture of respect. All his companions looked the other way, and Optimus nodded to him.

Megatron stepped inside right after him and sat on the opposite bench. 

“What? Are you too good to talk to me now?” Megatron asked, crossing his arms. He clenched his sword servo into a fist and now wished he could summon a blade more than he had in the entire time of their imprisonment. 

Optimus pointedly ignored him, and the battlemask stayed on. Megatron snorted at him and looked away as well, and they were silent for the the rest of the trip back. 

Only when the front door of their luxurious prison closed and locked behind them and they were alone, Optimus turned to give him a displeased, sour look. “Why do you always have to behave like that?!” he snapped and walked to the kitchen looking like he would have liked to stomp his pedes as he went.

Megatron went after him. “Like what?! You expect me to accept my position and bow down to those pompous scrapheaps sitting there high and mighty, looking down on us! It's like nothing has changed!”

Optimus spun around in the kitchen and Megatron halted on the spot. Optimus stared at him with wide, furious optics, radiating frustration and anger like never before. “You! You don't get to talk like that!” he hissed, almost choking on the words like he desperately tried to stop himself from yelling. “Everything has changed! How can you even imagine nothing has changed?! You! You started a civil war that lasted for over a million stellar cycles, devastated our planet, drove our people on exodus and nearly to extinction! Nothing will ever be the same, and you _dare_ to complain just because you don't like how things turned out for _you_?!”

“You were right there with me starting this whole thing! Don't you pin everything on me!” Megatron snapped back.

Optimus barked a joyless laugh and rolled his optics towards the ceiling. “You... You are an incredibly selfish person! Can't you really see what you've done and why you _just might_ deserve to be punished for it?!”

“Easy for you to say, librarian! Bots were dying everywhere! No one heard us, no one cared! You might be content with talking things out but things don't change that way! Not fast enough! Tens of thousands would have been terminated before the High Council would have lifted a digit!”

“Don't you hide before the suffering of others!” Optimus yelled. His patience was quickly slipping, and even if he tried to keep his voice level, he didn't quite succeed. “You may have had the right idea in the beginning! You certainly did have a point, I know that, I listened to you! But you are just a megalomanic brute who just didn't feel like controlling his violent impulses! Even if you weren't an entirely lost cause in the beginning, you certainly have been for a very long time! It's just about you, no one else!”

“Don't pretend you understand me or my caste! You were shuffling data in your beloved library when we suffocated and were crushed in the mines, died in factories and tore each other into pieces in the Pits!” Megatron yelled back. Seeing Optimus losing his cool was incredibly satisfying after that humiliating and frustrating council meeting, and for once they were really in the core of things. The rage and frustration was finally focused and coming out. It was like amputating a useless rusting appendage and spilling out the sedimented energon. 

Optimus set his servos on his hipplates and paced back and forth, his vents puffing in irritation and optics glaring in Megatron's direction. “You just love that excuse, don't you?! You speak of equality but you just want to take your turn on oppressing others! It's all just so simple to you, isn't it?! You think my caste had it somehow luxurious?! I was a clerk, a low middle caste and our lives were just as strictly dictated as yours!”

“You were _safe_!” Megatron bit back, leaning over the kitchen isle between them.

“That's exactly the point!” Optimus shouted towards the ceiling and slammed his servos on the isle. “Not being in immediate danger of termination is not a luxury! You can't just put the entire world into a mold like that and then start blowing up places and slaughtering everyone who might have something different to say!”

They stared at each other with burning optics, both radiating anger towards each other like they could tear at each other with just their EM fields. Megatron bared his dentae in a snarl and Optimus jutted his chin forth, the battlemask stubbornly still in place.

“I can't believe that after all this time you are still defending them,” Megatron spat in disgust. “You so love to serve your noble masters, don't you? You just believe everything they say and accept _this_ humiliating fate as justice!”

“No, I don't!” Optimus snapped back. “Believe it or not, but I actually agree with you! And if you were capable of putting your own ego and impulses aside for one single klik once in your existence, you would have supported me instead of making that meeting your personal show!”

“My show? At least I actually spoke my mind! What did you do, huh? You just stood there and let them mock you and look down on you!” Megatron shot back, and the bare memory of Optimus standing there languid and passive pushed more steam into his gears.

Optimus sighed abruptly and rolled his optics again. “Right, sure, your interpretation is once again the only right one and superior to everyone else's. I see. Did it occur to you, even in passing, that the council members are not just carbon copies of Ratbat? That each one of them is their own bot with motivations and opinions of their own?! And did you _even consider_ that it would be useful to get to known those before you charge on them?!”

For the first time Megatron paused and narrowed his optics in consideration. “That's what I was doing,” he said.

Optimus gave him a suspicious glance and huffed. “It didn't look like it.” He moved restlessly on his place, either ashamed of his yelling or still not done with it.

“Being in power doesn't automatically make bots evil or your personal prosecutors,” Optimus said.

“Not so in my experience,” Megatron replied.

“Then what would that make Megatron the Warlord?” Optimus said. 

“The winner,” Megatron said, smirking.

Optimus huffed again and rubbed his forehelm, shaking his helm in disbelief. “You are unbelievable! There's not a single shred of self-awareness in you, is there?!”

“Stop spouting your moralistic nonsense like you know me!” Megatron snapped. The satisfaction of yelling was quickly fading now that Optimus was once again trying to defuse the situation and draw back like the good little soldier he was, and Megatron could feel the resentment clot and darken in his hammering spark. The feeling of connecting they shared when in combat had slipped away. 

“You are just as bad as they are!” Optimus said.

“DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT! DON'T YOU DARE!” Megatron yelled, slamming his fist down on the counter top. 

Optimus crossed his arms and stared at him, pointedly glanced down at his fist and then back up at him again to let him know what he thought of his behavior. “I just did, and I meant it, and I would say so again. Are you perhaps going to talk yourself into justifying my murder now? What do you think the Council would think about that?”

“They'd probably gladly sentence me to death for real this time,” Megatron answered in a sarcastically calm voice and with a manic false smile.

“Wouldn't that be a truly stupid move of you then. You'd lose your only ally and give your resented lords and ladies of the Council an excuse to get rid of you. You'd give up the fight,” Optimus said, and Megatron hated how much sense it made.

He leaned back and regarded the Prime with consideration. “An ally, you say?”

Optimus gave him a sour look, showing just how little he liked the way things were. “I told you I agree with you. I don't like this situation either, but there's little we can do about it _at this moment_. We'll have to observe and work through this _calmly_.”

Calmly. Now there was a word and a meaning Megatron hated almost as much as the mech opposite of him. “Don't patronize me, Prime,” he scoffed.

“There are problems you can't slice in two with a sword!” Optimus insisted, and that was enough for Megatron, who slammed his fist down one more time.

“I told you to stop doing that! Shut up! It would be better to be offline than in the shackle of the Council!”

And with that he stormed out of the kitchen, into the study and slammed the door shut so hard it bounced right back open, and he had to walk back to shut it properly. There was nothing he could do there, like there was nothing to do in the whole apartment. Optimus managed to spend cycles on the computer station and Megatron couldn't care any less about that since he had the rest of the apartment entirely for himself when Optimus sat in front of the screen, but in the light of today's events Megatron couldn't help but wonder what exactly Optimus was up to. He had to have a plan of some sort. 

Megatron paced around in the study and thought furiously. The strong current of anger was slowly fading and, even with the constant undertone of his grudge for Optimus that was always there, slowly giving room for an objective point of view. 

Optimus had called them allies. The term didn't entirely resonate with Megatron. On one hand it reminded him of their last grand victory against Unicron the Chaos Bringer, but on the second hand it also brought back a much older and more resented memory of the days before the war. Optimus had some nerve to take the moral high ground, a traitor as he was, but whatever they'd call this unfortunate state of legal bindings and partially overlapping interests, it might turn out to be useful. All the vows and ceremonies in the world couldn't make up for the missing sparkbond after all.

There was a knock on the door, and Megatron stilled. Knocking was bizarrely polite in this situation, even for a bot like Optimus. “Yes?”

Optimus pushed the door half open and awkwardly leaned on the door frame. “Hi. I just received a message from Downshift,” Optimus started. He was back in his shell of serenity. “I've been clearing things with the newly founded Central Bank, and it turns out they were able to recover my old account with its savings.”

Megatron raised his optic ridges. “You have a bank account?”

Optimus shrugged. “Yes. But that's not what I came here to tell you. I... Well, don't you think the apartment is a bit empty?”

“I wouldn't know. I haven't lived in a house before,” Megatron truthfully said.

“Yes, right. Well I did clear with Downshift where out first public appearance will be. It will be in three weeks, and I thought we might fill this place up a bit and go furniture shopping. There's a lot of second-hand things for sale.”

Megatron stared. He hadn't even considered furniture, and didn't think for a klik material goods would make the place any more cozy, but a chance of getting out for a while was tempting. If he was lucky someone might try and kill him, and he'd get to have his fight after all. But right now what he hated most was Optimus' apologetic voice and body language. It felt like the Prime was belittling him and their latest fight, pretending like it didn't mean anything. 

“Fine by me,” Megatron said. “It's your credits.”

Optimus didn't press the matter any more, but slipped out and closed the door after him. They didn't speak a word the rest of the week.

 

The visitation had been scheduled for the last working day of the week, and just like last time Downshift came to check them out from their apartment and upstairs to the top floor were the area for visitations was. 

But unlike last week, this visitation Megatron was looking forward to. He stepped inside the glass cubicle five klikcycles early, and Soundwave was already waiting for him. 

Megatron pulled a chair, sat down and proceeded to regard his former third in command, who now bowed his helm in a show of apology. 

“Hello, Soundwave,” Megatron greeted his third. “I trust you have been well.”

Soundwave nodded once and continued to sit in silence, his visor directed to the floor and sharply away from Megatron's general direction, like he didn't think himself worthy to even look at his former leader's pedes.

That wouldn't do. Megatron leaned back on his seat as the silence stretched on, heavy with things that needed to be said. 

“Starscream reminded me last week that you were the one who electrocuted me in the last battle of our war,” Megatron said. Soundwave visibly winced. “That's what I get for turning my back on you, I suppose. I don't blame you, though, so you could at least grant me the privilege of looking you in the face.”

After a moment Soundwave seemed to force himself to relax and sat up straighter in his seat, and slowly he lifted his helm so Megatron could see his reflecting visor. 

“That's better,” Megatron said, nodding with approval. “It's no use to dwell in the past, so let's talk about this moment and where we stand now.”

Soundwave nodded, his visor lit up and he started to pull files out of his banks. He had made himself useful during his free time, or it was just that old habits died hard, but what passed through his visor was very interesting information indeed. 

Megatron hadn't decided if he believed that these rooms weren't supervised, but just in case they were spied on he avoided saying anything that would get Soundwave in trouble. 

“Yes, minimum wage is very little. But we do what we can, don't we?” he said out loud. Soundwave had always had the mind for business, and with the discreetness of a spy black market business was a natural choice for extra income. Naturally the Decepticons would pull through, Megatron had never doubted that. 

And what interesting things there were for sale, just floating around for anyone with credits to buy. According to Soundwave's notes people were very eager to turn their old weapons, hoarded battle trophies and parts of their now useless spacecrafts into credits, and since just selling an ion blaster or the cannons of your shuttle was difficult, bits and pieces of everything drifted on the market.

Megatron smirked. “One always finds a way to survive, don't you think?”

Soundwave regarded him silently, his helm thoughtfully tilted. Then he spoke, and the sound that came out was from his own vocalizer: “I am still here for you, Megatron.”

For the first time since – he didn't even know how long it had been – Megatron felt a trace of good mood, even if Soundwave disposing of his old vows meant the Decepticon cause truly was history. 

“Good to know, Soundwave,” he replied. “All the way from the Pits to here. That means something.”

Even for a mech with no faceplate Soundwave was very expressively touched by his words. His helm and shoulders perked up, and the biolights on his chassis and in the seams of his abdominal plates shone brighter. “Can I do something for you?” he asked.

Megatron thought for a moment, then chose his words very carefully: “There's not much you can do for me, unfortunately. The house arrest will be continued indefinitely, and just today I was before the Council discussing this. A curious bunch of bots they are. I knew only Ratbat, nothing about the rest. But on more positive note I will venture outside this building only three weeks from now, and we might be able to greet each other then.”

He knew he was speaking vaguely, but Soundwave was not only a spy, he was the spy, the one in charge of everything, and the bot who had known him the longest. He would get the message. 

Soundwave nodded, then seemed to hesitate for a klik, a digit against his chin. He came to some conclusion, leaned closer to the glass and said with a low voice: “You have not been forgotten, Lord Megatron. They remember who brought Cybertron back online.” 

Megatron was definitely in a good mood now. Just a stellar cycle away from the public optic and with the rebuilding of the living planet in full motion wasn't enough to strike him from Cybertronian history, that was for sure. Soundwave's regards would definitely make the shackles the Council had put him in lighter to bear until he could break them once again. 

They regarded each other in a more relaxed light after that point. Soundwave didn't ask any probing questions and Megatron wasn't interested in doing so either, both acting out of respect established long ago.

“How are our comrades?” Megatron asked. “Starscream was a mess when I saw him last.”

Soundwave shrugged minimally. “Like myself, Knockout pulls through despite the modest credit he makes. Shockwave has an important job in the Science Academy and thus is content. I hear Airachnid has been retrieved from Earth but I don't know what has come of her. I barely know anything interesting of Starscream, but I do know that Stormsplitter is looking for him for personal business, as she puts it.”

“Indeed?” Megatron interrupted. “Can you speculate what business? Stormsplitter is not Vosian so I don't see what business she could have with Starscream.”

“Considering her dispassionate attitude, I doubt it's anything important or serious,” Soundwave said. “At least I don't believe she intends to terminate him.”

“Now that's a pity,” Megatron chuckled. 

“One thing there is that might interest you more, though,” Soundwave said. “Dreadwing has returned to Cybertron.” 

That was interesting. Megatron did have a certain interest for deserters, though revenge wouldn't come in question anymore. “Oh? Well... Isn't that interesting. Have you made contact?”

“Negative,” Soundwave answered. “I simply observed. Considering what I have observed I believe the reason for his desertion was the fate of his spark twin.”

“Skyquake? He offlined in combat. How is that upsetting to a dedicated warrior like Dreadwing?” Megatron asked, frowning.

“I can only speculate, but I suppose it had less to do with his fall and more with his undignified second rising.”

Understanding dawned on Megatron. “Ah. Yes, that makes sense,” he admitted but shook his helm. “That sentimental fool! One should learn to leave the past and the dead behind instead of forgetting the now.”

Soundwave nodded in agreement and left his report at that. He interlaced his digits and laid his servos in his lap, Megatron leaned back on his seat and they enjoyed the comfortable silence for a moment.

“How's Kaon?” Megatron asked. 

Soundwave shrugged vaguely, but his visor lit up once again and this time he pulled forth pictures he had managed to get. They spent the rest of their cycle going through Soundwave's extensive collection of pictures of Kaon reborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, here we go guys! Thank you for dropping by and reading my work. Please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> As always, a giant thank you to all of you who have left kudos and comments and bookmarked this fic. These things shed light into my life.


	19. The breaking point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! You may congratulate my beta since he was extra fast with this chapter and thus I can give you an update already! Yay for us!
> 
> I'm so thankful for all your kudos and comments as well as your likes and reblogs on Tumblr! Thank you! There's still a few comments I haven't replied to, but I'll get on with it.   
> Anyway, here it is, please enjoy!
> 
> A/N**: I talk about suburbs in this chapter. In this fic I mean the European (and because of my bias especially Finnish) version of suburbs, which typically means clusters of cheap apartment buildings built around cities, not a green area with nice little houses.

Wheeljack barely worked. He didn't think he would have even shown up to work if it wasn't for Bulkhead, who woke him up every morning by ringing the buzzer behind his door until he had to drag himself up from his padding, but once at the construction site he did barely anything.

It started out fine when during the two first cycles he worked on the cement mixer and handed over buckets of it to others, put on the next load and fetched more sand bags while the mixer worked, and after he had mixed enough cement he had to move to other tasks depending on that particular work cycle, to drill bolts into the skeleton structure of the building or to cast floors. But after that he ran out of fight and his pace started to wind down. 

Around the mid solar cycle the site had filled up with so many strange smells and noise that all will to do anything left Wheeljack. His sensors picked up every single thing around and blasted his processor with the information flood. Chemicals from paints and solutions and the machines stank and made his processor swim, every clang of metal sounded like a bomb, the drills sounded like weapons, and once you added the noise from the traffic and the chatter of the workers Wheeljack's systems were locked on overdrive and all he could do was to stand still and try not to fall over himself. 

The manager wasn't too pleased with him just loitering around the rest of the work cycles and still collecting the paycheck, and not even Bulkhead's kindness and protection could distract him enough to keep Wheeljack from getting told off at least once each solar cycle. 

A familiar voice yanked Wheeljack back to the real world and within his own frame: “If it isn't Wheeljack, you uncouth grenade addict you!”

Wheeljack shook himself awake and looked around him, searching the busy crowd for the speaker, and when he finally located the short mech waving at him, shouted: ”Shutdown! You made it, you vermin!”

Shutdown approached, grinning and completely ignoring how he was wandering into a secluded area and in the middle of a potentially dangerous construction site. He was red and black, the paint of his faceplate worn from the seams from smiling so much, and even though his round and heavy armoring was worn out and dented, his confident posture and the speed he strode forward made him appear like the war never happened to him.

When Shutdown reached Wheeljack, they clasped their servos together and embraced. 

“I'm so glad to see a familiar face! I only just arrived. I had to hitch-hike a ride from the next galaxy here since my shuttle broke down on me,” Shutdown told him without asking.

“No kidding? That's tough. I'm sorry for your ship,” Wheeljack said as they pulled apart. “How did ya find me?”

“Well...” Shutdown drew his answer out, shrugging awkwardly. “All I had to do was to check out the list of recently convicted war criminals, really.”

“Oh, that,” Wheeljack said, chuckling joylessly.

“That's terrible news, Jackie,” Shutdown said empathetically. “Seeing a Wrecker tried side by side with Cons... It dims a spark, you know? I wonder if the world will go straight down the gutter again.”

Wheeljack smiled, appreciating the support and sympathy. “Yeah, well... It's all politics. No use pretending it makes any sense.”

Shutdown barked a laugh. “Yeah, you got it, Jackie. Say, do you want to get out of here? Get a drink or something? I saw a place down the road.”

“That's just like you to locate the nearest fueling hole the first thing you do once back on planetside,” Wheeljack chuckled, avoiding the proposition and glancing around. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him or Shutdown who didn't even work there, and with the constant clanging and banging and whirling hammering his processor the idea of skipping work was becoming more and more tempting by every klik. 

Shutdown waited patiently. 

Wheeljack toed the ground and shifted restlessly, rubbing the back of his neckcables. “You know what... My fuel levels are kinda low. I could use a cube of something cheap,” he finally said. 

Shutdown beamed up at him. “That's great! Come on, let's go and catch up a bit, yeah?”

No one stopped them when they walked out of the construction site and no one said anything either, for which Wheeljack was grateful. When the audio-receptor-shattering noise of the construction site was left behind, Wheeljack relaxed slightly. Shutdown led him through the streets like a bot who lived there instead of having just arrived, and the bar he had talked about turned out to be in a corner three blocks away. 

“A friend of mine owns the place,” Shutdown told him when they walked through the door and went straight to the counter. “Hi! Two cubes of strong oil, please. Don't worry, Jackie, I'll pay for them.”

Wheeljack hardly had time to object, and then a fresh cube of steaming oil was in front of him already and he didn't feel like objecting anymore. They took their cubes and walked to an empty table in the corner and settled down. 

Neither one spoke right away, but instead they took their time to stretch their legs and take the first sips out of their cubes. Wheeljack was grateful, it helped his nerves to have a moment to finally wrench his systems from overdrive lock, and the slow burn of the oil and the charge it fed into his circuits felt good.

“So,” Shutdown finally said, “how are you hanging up?”

Wheeljack shrugged. “Hardly, I guess.”

Shutdown hummed in sympathy. “Yeah, I feel you there. It's odd to see you away from military business.”

“Yeah, that's the thing. There is no more military business, at least not for me. You saw my new criminal record. I'm a civilian now,” Wheeljack said.

“And how's civilian life treating you?”

“Lousily,” Wheeljack replied in one exhausted sigh. “I don't know it anymore. Everything's pointless and overwhelming at the same time, and I don't even got the relief of a good brawl or a tough mission anymore!”

Shutdown listened to him in silence, a serious expression on his faceplate and nodding. “I understand, I really do. Actually, I think I might be in the same position myself. You know, I worked in a retail store before the war.”

Wheeljack had to laugh at that. “What? No you didn't, you couldn't have!”

Shutdown chuckled as well, but nodded insistingly. “Oh, yes I did. I really did, and that's what I have education for. I used to sell all kinds of stuff, mostly basic household tech. Energon processors, rotary buffers, maintenance kits, cool compartments...”

Wheeljack kept laughing, he couldn't stop, the image of a bot like Shutdown, the reckless bomber Shutdown, in a pesky and brightly lit convenience store all shiny and proper, telling customers the newest features of an energon processor... It was too much. 

“So yeah, here we are! Out of interesting things to do, I reckon,” Shutdown concluded. “But you got it worse, Jackie. You got no choice. Now where's the justice in that?”

“Ah, but I'm a war criminal now,” Wheeljack said and toasted himself. “I don't have the right to justice anymore. Nor to an interesting job. Construction is my old function though, so at least I'm useful.”

Shutdown clicked his glossa and shook his helm, downing some of his oil. “That's not right, let me tell you. But I'm glad you came out for drinks anyhow.”

“Yeah, me too. Just you wait until you see Bulkhead. He's very into this building business.”

“Oh, he made it too, the old wrecking ball!” Shutdown said, perking up. “I thought we'd lost him the moment he went with the Prime. He was on the way for glory and righteousness.”

“Yeah, well... Look where that got us,” Wheeljack said, only half serious but surprised at his own bitterness over it. Shutdown gave him an understanding smile. 

“You know... I spotted a familiar Con on my way here,” Shutdown suddenly said.

“Oh? Where?” Wheeljack said.

“You're not going to believe this, but... In that Memorial Park for the fallen soldiers. Those slaggers actually have the nerve to go in there!”

“Yeah... And every other place is crawling with them now too,” Wheeljack added, even more bitter than before. He slurped down his drink trying to drown the feeling.

“Well... That's the present day, I suppose. Can't live with them, can't put a blade through their helms,” Shutdown sighed. 

Wheeljack wished he could linger all solar cycles and long into the evening ones in that bar with Shutdown. It was funny, they didn't actually know each other that well, they had just ran on a number of missions together in the Wreckers, and that was it. Wheeljack knew Bulkhead far better and they were definitely closer, but chatting and drinking with Shutdown made him feel like he was in a like-minded company for the first time in a long while.

*

When Starscream arrived home from work his mood was actually slightly elevated, a noticeable improvement to his usual gloomy one. He didn't mind the elevator clattering, he didn't mind the walking and he didn't mind seeing a neighbor in the hallway, and when he got inside the apartment the first thing he did was to throw himself on the couch and sigh happily, never mind that Knockout was home and saw the whole thing.

They had got a good amount of furniture and other household things in the past three weeks, and their modest space didn't look so dreary anymore. 

“What's going on with you?” Knockout curiously asked when Starscream stretched himself on the couch and lifted his pedes over the armrest.

“Finally a perk for working at the air traffic center!” Starscream declared. “I have updated my altform! Once again I transform into a beautiful Cybertronian battle jet! Goodbye dumb empty spaces and archaic design!” He laid down and swung his pedes even though he was squashing his own wings underneath him, so happy he was at the moment.

Knockout kicked the cold compartment door shut and walked around the dining counter and to the living room to join the seeker. He turned off the large screen extension of their computer console (which was stacked in the back corner) to get rid of the news feed it was currently displaying and peered down at the seeker. 

“You seem happy,” he said.

“I am,” Starscream said with a smile. “For the last stellar cycle I have waited a chance to get rid of that dismal terrestrial design, and finally I can look like myself again!”

Knockout raised his optic ridges. “I didn't know it bothered you that much. I thought you looked good.” 

“As long as I have wings, I won't complain,” Starscream said, waving the subject aside. “Besides our position on Earth was a stealth mission, and one must adapt. But it doesn't mean I particularly liked it.”

“True,” Knockout agreed. “But I actually think I'll keep my altform as it is, at least for the time being.”

Starscream frowned at him and sat up again. “Really? And why in the name of the Allspark would you do that?”

Knockout sat down on the newly freed spot and smirked. “Why wouldn't I? It's unique and gorgeous. It has the right amount of flair and class and just in the right portions. Just how I like it.”

Starscream rolled his optics and scoffed to himself. “You are a weird one, aren't you?”

“A true deviant, yes, I confess,” Knockout said with a smirk and laughed at the unimpressed look Starscream gave him. 

The door buzzer went off and they both froze up. They sat still and listened, and when the buzzer went off again, turned to stare at the door. Despite their fairly regular daily life, as high-profile former officers they both carried the gnawing fear of their past catching up with them, either in the form of a vigilante or a recruitment agent of a washed-up Decepticon cell, and even though neither one would ring the buzzer, one could never be too careful. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Starscream asked, suspicious.

“No. Are you?” Knockout replied.

“No.”

“Should we open?”

The buzzer went off the third time, and they exchanged an uncertain look.

“We probably should,” Starscream hesitantly said. He had no idea who it might be, and wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

Knockout was the one to act. He got up and walked to the door, peered through the peep hole and then cracked the door open a bit. “Yes?”

“Ah... Hello,” greeted an uncertain voice of a femme. Starscream listened keenly, but couldn't recall if he knew the voice or not. 

“I am looking for Starscream of Vos. Do I have the right address?” she asked.

Knockout looked like he was ready to slam the door shut at any moment, but his tone was as professional as ever. “And who's asking?”

“I am Stormsplitter of Kaon, here on formal business on the behalf of our disbanded seeker armada. May I come in?”

Starscream jerked up and onto his pedes. The name was definitely familiar, but they had never been formally introduced. A more pressing concern was the nature of her business. Starscream kept a neurotically accurate list of Decepticon fanatics positioned near him, as well as of those fiercely loyal to Megatron anywhere, and Stormsplitter had certainly been one of those... But it had been a long time, the infamous member of the Blue Flame had been on neutral ground for a long time and bonded with an Autobot, both of which indicated she was not dangerous. Coming to a decision, Starscream headed to the door.

“It's alright, Knockout. Do let her in,” he said. 

Knockout threw him a questioning glance but did as he asked, pulling the door fully open and stepping aside to allow the large femme to step into their apartment. 

Stormsplitter was bigger than neither one of the mechs, and the fit inside was awkward. She had to bow her helm to fit through the door, and once she was inside she pulled her wings close to her frame to prevent them from scratching the ceiling. 

She nodded to them both, first to Knockout and then to Starscream.

“We haven't met before, but I am here on official business anyway,” she began. “I felt I had to come.”

“Yes, go on,” Starscream said.

Stormsplitter nodded, bowed formally and said: “I am here to offer my condolences to you, Commander Starscream, for your late trine.” 

Starscream's good mood vanished in a sparkbeat, and his entire frame went cold and stiff like a husk. Still somehow he managed to pull etiquette from the back of his processor and bow back. “Thank you. May I ask how do you know my offline trine?”

“I had the honor to work besides your trine mate Thundercracker for a few centuries when we were positioned in the airbase between Vos and Praxus. I met your mate Skywarp only in passing. I grieved their loss, but never had the chance to express it to you.”

Starscream nodded with acknowledgment, and they stood in silence before the door, Knockout awkwardly standing there like the fifth wheel, hearing about this for the first time. 

“Um. Would you like to have a drink?” Knockout suggested, gesturing towards the kitchen corner. “A customer paid for their services with a unopened bottle of very old high-grade.”

The two flyers looked at him with a mixture of surprise and polite consideration.

“I was, uh, going to save it for a special occasion,” Knockout continued, “but if this isn't an occasion I don't know what is.”

“Yes, thank you, doctor,” Starscream said with a soft voice Knockout hadn't heard before. “I'd like that. Stormsplitter, do you want a cube?”

The industrial flyer seemed to consider this for a moment, probably weighing the downsides of getting overcharged against the rudeness of declining. Finally she nodded. “Yes, please. I'd gladly toast to fallen soldiers and loved ones.”

“Great,” Starscream said with a polite smile, and together they retreated to the kitchen corner, where Knockout opened one of the lower cupboards to fetch the bottle and Starscream and Stormsplitter sat down around the dining counter.

Knockout brought three small cubes to the table before sitting down next to Starscream, then starting to wrestle with the sealed cork of a very dusty old bottle. After the seal had been peeled off, Knockout yanked the cork out with his claws and with only little difficulty, and the pop and the strong sweet scent puffing out of the bottle verified the age splayed on the etiquette. 

“This is from before the war,” Knockout said as he poured three cubes full. “The original owner apparently intended it for a victory toast but didn't live to see the cycle. It's about time this got drank.”

“This is really good stuff, then,” Stormsplitter said. “What in the Allspark did you do for this? Did you sell your t-cog or something?”

“Or something,” Knockout said, pushing a cube to each across the table top. “It's just high-grade. It might have been valuable if luxuries were like they used to be.”

Starscream accepted his cube and cradled it in his servos. “Many fine soldiers didn't live to see the peace,” he muttered.

They were silent out of respect for a moment, tilting their cubes and sloshing their contents, before Stormsplitter lifted hers.

“To our brave comrades and loves fallen and lost in the war! May they find their way back to Primus and live on in eternal glory,” she toasted, and Knockout and Starscream lifted their cubes to the toast.

“To glory and blue skies,” Starscream echoed, his voice thin and oddly empty.

“To fallen comrades,” Knockout said quietly. 

They took the first sip out of their cubes and settled in silence again, and this time it was heavy with grief. 

“I lost my trine early during the war;” Stormsplitter told them quietly. “Voltage and Skybreak were good mechs, both of them. Decepticons through and through, eager to join the revolution. They were passionate about the cause, freedom and workers' rights and such – we used to work in Kaon's metal processing factories, you see. It turned out revolution takes its toll. It demands sacrifice.”

“So it does,” Starscream agreed, tasting his drink in reluctant sips. He was unusually quiet and hesitant to join the conversation, although part of that might have been that he had just met Stormsplitter, and the situation was a surprise. Still, there seemed to be an understanding among the fellow widow flyers, and Knockout felt left out.

Starscream attempted casual conversation: “ I hear you are newly bonded. Is she a good bot?”

“Oh...” Stormsplitter sighed, “she is. Better than I deserve.”

“She is an Autobot, I hear,” Starscream carefully said. It wasn't formed as a question, but it certainly was one. Knockout had to admit he was curious about that as well.

“Yes, she is,” Stormsplitter said. “She is indeed... Different. Very different. Override used to be an artist, you know. She lived in the beauty and luxury of Crystal City while I was slaving away in the filthy factories of Kaon. But it turns out we have surprisingly lot in common... And the war brought us closer, I dare say. The strangest thing, that one.”

Starscream nodded even though he didn't understand. He wasn't a fanatic Decepticon, and as a Vosian – a high-ranking Vosian no less - he wasn't the most typical Decepticon, but still his absolutism and ambition tied him to that side more than he could ever associate himself with the idealistic and quite frankly chaotic purity of the Autobots. It was all very confusing.

“I hear forming a new bond is hard after... After one has been severed,” Starscream said.

“Oh, it is,” Stormsplitter said. She stared into her drink, avoiding all contact and sounded like she was talking to herself. “I did it out of obligation. We were stranded in space, and we had to form an alliance so we wouldn't starve out there... And I was the leader, so I took the responsibility. She was the same, and so we did it. For a long time I didn't tell her about my late bondmates, but I think... I think I realized her presence and what she became to mean to me didn't disrespect their memory or undo anything we had had, and then opening up to her became easier.”

“I think it wouldn't be the same,” Starscream said. “I don't... know. I haven't had the time to think about them... I've been busy.”

“But you're not anymore,” Stormsplitter said.

Starscream nodded. “No, I'm not. I have to remember them now. Something like this... It shouldn't be painful. They never meant to hurt me, and they are the ones that are... gone. It shouldn't be so hard.”

“It'll become easier with time,” Stormsplitter said in a comforting tone. 

Knockout was just listening to them and feeling oddly left out. Not that he wished he had gone through a tragedy like the two others, but he was flooded by all this new information and felt like his relationship with Starscream was strangely undermined by this stranger barging in and knowing all these things and bonding with the seeker over those. Knockout hadn't even known that Starscream had been bonded with his trine! How could he not have known that?! Knockout had fancied them friends and taken that for granted. Sure, not particularly close friends, but they had genuinely enjoyed each other's company, gossiped, sought some sort of comfort during hard times and had a bit of fun together. 

As it turned out, he didn't know all that much of Starscream, and him being a widow was quite a big deal. Knockout felt incompetent and insensitive for not knowing that and giving his friend his condolences before this stranger who had just tracked them down because she had worked with Thundercracker.

Stormsplitter directed the conversation away from herself: “I had the privilege of seeing you and your trine fly together once or twice. It was magnificent.”

Starscream seemed to swell with pride. “Why, of course it was! We were the elite of the elite, the best Vos had to offer! That was how we met and why we bonded. We were absolutely perfect. It was the Courting Flight Festival, and the only two bots who could keep up with me were those two. Oh, it was wonderful... I never thought I'd find bots like them! We flew above and around all others, and we triumphed over everyone! It was absolutely exquisite. And once we bonded, we just got better at it! We were in perfect sync, always in sync and we didn't even need to speak, we just knew... It was a true seeker bond, deep and secure.”

Starscream sounded so wistful when he talked about flying, and now when dreaming about his bondmates his optics grew dim and distant and his voice cracked a bit.   
Knockout felt an ugly sting of jealousy. 

“That sounds wonderful,” Stormsplitter said, her voice full and true, and Knockout hated her a little bit. “I hope that memory will become less painful to you so you can cherish it.”

Starscream chucked. “You sound like a civilized bot, Stormsplitter. Is your Autobot mate rubbing her good manners on you?”

Stormsplitter laughed and snorted. “I'm afraid she is! Her fancy words just are so... Precise. And she's far more talkative than I am, so the battle of influence is not really an equal one.”

She downed the rest of her cube into her intake and stood up from her stool. Starscream and Knockout automatically did the same. 

“I have business to attend to,” Stormsplitter said, bowing. “Thank you for the most excellent high-grade, it was quite delicious. And thank you for allowing me to pay my respects to the bondmate of Thundercracker.”

At the front door Starscream bowed back as well. “You are very welcome. Thank you for bringing your good wishes and regards for my fallen loves. I salute you, Stormsplitter of Kaon.”

“As I do you, Starscream of Vos. I respect a good flyer when I meet one, and you are the best. Good luck to you and your new love,” Stormsplitter said for farewells before turning and stepping out of the door and into the hallway.

Starscream was about to correct her about him and Knockout, but he took a quick glance at the medic who was grinning like no tomorrow, and shut his intake before he'd say something to wipe that smile away.

*

Bumblebee and Smokescreen worked in tandem with their cleaning duties, and the chance to be together was one of the very few upsides the job had.

Compared to scouting missions and battlefields the work was boring, and even though it made no sense to be bored and ungrateful for peace and quiet and security, in a way both of them missed the war. They had mentioned those feelings only once or twice accidentally during intimate moments when they had been alone and truly opened up to each other, and both felt somewhat guilty about them as well, so they rarely brought those up.

Working together was the only safe and familiar thing in this new world order, and it was focused on keeping things clean and nice and functional, earning credits (that were either impractical chips or just numbers on a screen) so they could buy fuel and stuff they liked, and just coexisting with other bots and minimizing all commotion. The new world was strange, and neither one of them was particularly good at living in it. Even if boring, cleaning duty was easy enough to learn and master fast, but there were tons of other things they had no idea existed and didn't even realize to think of before some older bot brought it up and demanded why they hadn't filled this or that form or reported to an institution A or signed up for a mail list of B or where was a card or a certificate of this thing they didn't even know what it was.

They were both grateful for Arcee and her seemingly never-ending patience she had for them, their confusion and questions.

They got up early in the morning, fueled up and started their rounds in their area. They cleaned staircases in office buildings three times a week, washed windows and elevators and door glasses twice a moon cycle and picked up laundry and garbage twice a week. 

On the fourth solar cycle of the week – the laundry day – they finished their round a bit early and had some extra time in the main office of the Public Cleaning Services, and they ran into Collision and Chromehook, their two ex-vehicon acquaintances. Only today there was something different about them both.

“Hey... What's happened to your faces and your pedes?” Smokescreen asked before they even had a chance to say hello.

The mechs didn't seem disturbed about the upfront question, but quite the opposite. They exchanged pleased looks and smiled at both young Autobots when they turned back to them.

“We've had some work done,” Chromehook said lightly, smiling. He had a face to smile with currently. The expressionless faceplate had been removed and replaced with an actual faceplate with dozens of moving plates that made expressions possible, his intake had lipplates now and his red optics had been changed into blue ones.

Collision had a faceplate as well, and though his intake was still just a hole with a manually removable filter on it, he had upgraded the upper half of his faceplate as well and invested into reforming his pedes and legs into lighter, more stylish ones. The rims of his wheels shone new and golden, and he had changed the purple into blue. “We sure have. Our old mutual friend did us some favors for a small fee.”

“Wow, really?” Smokescreen said, slightly disbelieving. “That's so cool! Now you have your own faces! I gotta tell you, it's now so much easier to tell you two apart!”

“That's the general idea,” Collision said. “Though... We would appreciate – and our mutual friend would too – if you didn't spread the knowledge of our upgrades around too much.”

Bumblebee frowned. “Your friend: Criminal?”

“Oh no, no no!” Chromehook hurried to assure them. “Nothing like that! But this is some extra work. These things are better to keep with little attention, get it? Our friend is really helpful. I'm sure, if you keep this under the public radar they'd be happy to help you too should you ever need it.”

Smokescreen and Bumblebee left the matter be – they had learned that prying into Decepticons' private affairs usually equaled much grief with little gain – but they did make a mental note of this for themselves. 

“Right. Well, anyway, it's great to see you guys starting to look like yourselves finally,” Smokescreen said.

Bumblebee agreed. “It's good. Congratulations.”

*

Wheeljack was left wandering the streets once he and Shutdown parted ways. He could have gone back to work, but a mixture of shame and exhaustion kept him away. So he hit the streets and just kept walking, walking and walking, never transforming into his altmode or even deciding where he was headed. A street felt like the kindest thing he knew right now, since it just went on and didn't lead him into a dead-end or a situation he didn't know how to handle.

A downside to the city life was and had always been the crowds. Wheeljack didn't like people that much, not in company for extended periods and not as a mass that surrounded and compressed him from all directions. A city also had noise, all sorts of sounds that blasted his audio receptors from all directions and filled his feed to its maximum capacity. And a city had smells, so much weird, strange, unfamiliar smells assaulting his senses to the point where the sweetest and faintest whisk from a rust stick stand hurt his scent sensors as much as the nastiest reek imaginable. 

So he kept walking, even if only out of fear that if he stopped he wouldn't be able to move again. 

His pedes took him to the very heart of the downtown area, and then forward and further in there, maybe unconsciously directing him to the direction with the least noise and traffic, or maybe some deeper wish or need in his spark took him there, but not before long he walked in through the archway of the Memorial Park. 

Tragedies needed to be remembered and in some way bots handled their grief and fear by building monuments. Wheeljack found such sentiment distasteful, but he could also see the practical side of the Memorial Park since too many had offlined in the great civil war to ever fit in any one burial ground, crypt or even the tablets of a temple. 

The Memorial Park was surrounded by tall, black stone walls that cut out a good chunk of noise of the city. The park consisted of a network of paths among stone gardens and crystals clusters, and the twisting and curving little paths rose into beautiful stone bridges, dived under black metal gates with gem curtains and occasionally widened into round plazas. Because of the outer wall the Memorial Park was mostly quiet, but there was one very dominant sound: the endless jiggling and chinking of small prayer bells that had been left everywhere around the Park. The bells were all small, made out of dozens of different materials, and each had a small plate attached to its string with a name engraved into it, and they all jingled for the memory of fallen soldiers, friends, families. 

It was a morbid place in spirit, but right now Wheeljack found some amount of comfort in it. He hadn't set up a single bell there himself, and he felt a little prickle of guilt at that because he too had comrades who had fallen, and in his opinion every single Wrecker deserved a place in the Memorial Park, but doing the honors had turned out to be surprisingly difficult. He knew it would be easier if he just asked Bulkhead to help him with the bells, but he didn't want to talk to Bulkhead right now. 

There were very few visitors in that time of the solar cycle so Wheeljack was allowed to walk in peace. He stared at his pedes and wondered if the rocks were specifically chosen for the gravel paths by size and shape because they were all so perfectly round, beautiful white, gray and black, that it was almost a shame to step on them.   
He walked towards the center of the Park, and by every step the noise of the city grew more and more quiet until the noise of hundreds of engines and tires and machines and vocalizers was a mere distant buzz and drowned by the soft tinging of the bells.

He crossed a crescent shaped bridge over a river of carefully placed gemstones of multiple shades of blue and green and came to a larger plaza covered in white pebbles, and in the far end of the oval yard stood a statue erected in Primus' honor against a complex wall of mosaic that pictured generic soldiers of multiple sizes and frame types either kneeling, bowing or reaching for the divine figure and their light. Before and around the icon stood an iron fence with vertical bars, all full of prayer bells, and before the statue, kneeling down on the ground, was a familiar mech.

Wheeljack could have recognized the blue and yellow and silver bulky flyer frame anywhere, and seeing Dreadwing here of all places filled him with offense and anger. He marched across the plaza towards the kneeling mech, and by each step the insult grew more sour and painful. Wheeljack thought of a thousand things to say, how to order the Decepticon to leave these grounds that were for respecting the honorable soldiers who had fought for good and freedom, to take his presence that insulted the memory of Seaspray, the Wreckers and the entirety of the Autobot army and cause with him. But when Wheeljack finally came within a hearing distance, all words died in his vocalizer. Dreadwing had to know he was there, but he chose not to acknowledge him. He sat still, a battered sword before him on the ground and his servos extended before him, just above his knees with palms turned down towards the ground. 

“Hey,” Wheeljack said. All fight was drained from him. The sight of a praying Decepticon was a new one to him.

Dreadwing didn't answer right a way, but took his time to cycle three full intakes of air through his vents. “Wheeljack the Autobot,” he slowly said after that. “Do you have unfinished business with me, perhaps?”

Wheeljack raised his optic ridges. “Not really,” he lied smoothly. “All business between our factions have been finished for us.” 

“Ah. Yes, indeed,” Dreadwing said, sounding thoughtful. He kept his praying position for a moment more, then pressed his servos into fists and lowered them to rest on his knees. “I thought Primus was answering my prayers and sending you to extinguish my spark.”

That startled Wheeljack, who took an instinctive step back. “Yeah, no, I just happened to come here. I'm not here to offline you.”

“That's a pity,” Dreadwing sighed. 

“How come?” Wheeljack asked. 

“My mission is finally at its end. Our exodus and our cause is finished, and I have managed to bring my brother back home. I have spent a number of cycles here, praying for Primus to take the rest of me to Them as well. To have only one twin live on is pointless.”

“Huh,” Wheeljack said, considering that. He recognized he should probably be more shocked or unsettled by the topic of the conversation, but he found himself to actually be calmer than in a long while. “Is that his sword?” he asked, pointing at the rusted blade on the ground.

“Yes. It's identical to mine,” Dreadwing replied. “I brought a prayer bell as well.” He reached up to the black fence and gently touched a tin bell with the tips of his digits, making it release a soft note. A white plate with the name Skyquake engraved into it twirled on the string and shone in the sunlight.

“At least you got something to remember him by,” Wheeljack said, shrugging. “Many bots I knew are practically dust. Or space junk. And I don't know if you recall, but Prime shot the Allspark into space to keep Megatron's claws off it, so I don't think Primus is home.”

“Mm, I recall,” Dreadwing recognized. “We are a people with immeasurable losses and a God who's been banished from Their own frame. What future do we have, I wonder.”

He was acting very dispassionate about the subject, and Wheeljack found he didn't want to fight either. “I hear you. I've been thinking that myself too,” Wheeljack admitted, gazing up to the statue of Primus without knowing what to make of it. When he looked back down, Dreadwing was looking back at him. 

Wheeljack made a quick decision that he couldn't reasonably explain to even himself. “You know... I can't end your meaningless existence for you, but as a a mech who has equally little reason to go on, I could buy you a drink.”

Dreadwing didn't look surprised or taken aback by the invitation, but he didn't seem to consider it either.

“I just skipped work to do that and I have already started today, so I was going to anyway. We might look less pathetic if we drank together,” Wheeljack continued. “Unless, of course, you want to keep praying to our absent God.”

“No, I don't think so. That's depressing,” Dreadwing sighed and pushed himself up from the ground. “Not that drinking in the middle of the day cycle would be much better.”

“Down at least three cubes and it will start feeling less so,” Wheeljack said with a smirk.

“You might be correct. But I'll choose the place,” Dreadwing finally agreed and gestured Wheeljack to follow him towards the path leading to the southern exit gate of the Memorial Park. 

“Lead the way, then,” Wheeljack said and followed. 

They didn't talk the whole time they walked through the city, yet the silence between them was comfortable. Both were tired on some deeper level that couldn't be fixed with recharge and that little understanding between them was enough.

As they walked south the buildings got lower and the streets narrower block by block, but the line between the former Iacon and the new suburban area of white concrete buildings was even clearer. They walked across train tracks and ended up from the world of freshly paved streets with lights and traffic and tall buildings with shops and bars and even a few restaurants to one with narrow, twisting walkways and low, cheap apartment buildings that had been built here and there with no city plan. Blocks were not clearly separated or even and the network of streets was, kindly put, chaotic. 

But Dreadwing knew where he was going, and Wheeljack followed without a second thought. He couldn't come up with a worst case scenario that would have scared or even worried him, so trusting a Decepticon was more like a welcomed change in his usual spark-suffocating routine.

They walked down a case of uneven stairs that Wheeljack would have liked to break and rebuild, then turned from the street on a gateway meant for the garbage disposal truck and ended up on a kind of a courtyard. There on the wall above a door was a clearly homemade sign that spelled “bar” with a string of decorative festive lights that had been stapled in the background. The place for a business was terrible; there was no way a customer could have found there unless they knew it was there, but it also occurred to Wheeljack that that might not have been such a bad idea.

Dreadwing stepped through the door and Wheeljack followed. They entered a surprisingly large bar that had a low ceiling and many little tables and miss-matched stools. It seemed that when most of the bars in the main city area had disposed of their makeshift furniture and more creative solutions once proper ones had slowly become available, this establishment had taken them in as hand-me-downs. Another thing Wheeljack noticed right away was how almost everyone loitering around in the bar still wore their Decepticon shields as proudly as Wheeljack wore his Autobot one.

They got several suspicious and nasty looks when they walked up to the bar counter, but Dreadwing didn't seem to mind so Wheeljack didn't either, just stayed close to the flyer.

The bartender was as bulky as Dreadwing was, clearly either a former industrial worker or a miner, and she had a hideous network of welding scars across her jet black faceplate. Her yellow optics stared at Wheeljack for a good while before she looked back at Dreadwing.

“An Autobot? You brought an Autobot into my bar?” 

“Trust me on this one, Six-Shot. It's been an odd day. Just give us two cubes of high-grade, he'll pay,” Dreadwing said, and Wheeljack started to pick credits out of his subspace. 

The bartender filled up two cubes without further objection, but when she set them down she raised her purple wings in an aggressive angle and leaned over the counter to take a better look at Wheeljack.

“I know your face. You're a Wrecker, aren't you?” she accused him.

“Yep, that I was,” Wheeljack agreed, returning the femme's blazing stare. She was an odd one to look at since her optics, like Dreadwing's, didn't have any focusing point to look at. They were just bright yellow glass balls, staring ahead empty and reflecting what was before her. 

“So you're a sadistic, trigger-happy killer,” Six-Shot pressed on. 

Wheeljack didn't waver, but stared back calmly and replied: “I have been accused of that, too. But from our side Blue-Flamers were the sadistic ones. My side used to call us heroes.”

“Used to, huh,” Six-Shot said.

“Yeah, then the war ended and suddenly all I'm good for is my intended function.”

Six-Shot regarded him for the longest time, completely expressionless, her optics unreadable and her wings rigid to even they didn't indicate anything. It was like she had frozen on spot and her yellow gaze burned, but then she suddenly animated again and smoothly slided back to her own side of the counter. Her voice was softer when she spoke to Dreadwing again: “Some thing you dragged in. Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, Six-Shot. Primus' light to you,” Dreadwing said when he picked up the cubes. Six-Shot made a face at him.

“Get lost, you! And don't forget to tip, Autobot scum!” she called after them.

They chose the most remote table they could find and sat down heavily. Dreadwing pushed Wheeljack's cube across the table to him, and once they had their drinks they quieted down again. The silence was still comfortable.

The bar was almost half full even though it was the middle of the day, and it occurred to Wheeljack that it was probably hard to find work nowadays. Many bore the Decepticon shield, and he knew fully well many of them had worked in the heavy industry of Kaon, Tarn and Blaster City, and construction and engineering were the areas of work that had most jobs right now. Wheeljack didn't have enough education to do much else than to build things, were they buildings or hard machines, but compared to the bots of castes lower than his former he was still well off. 

But still he was skipping work. He started to feel terribly guilty and ungrateful. He had been handed a job, after all. 

Dreadwing hit home more than he could ever have anticipated: “Where do you work?”

Wheeljack winced, but forced himself to answer: “In construction. That was my job before the war and that's how I'm paying back for being on Team Prime, no matter how unofficially.” 

“I see,” Dreadwing said and took a sip out of his cube. “I heard the news about the last stand and the end of the war, and of the legal proceedings after that. To be honest, I never thought the rebellion would end like that.”

“Where have you been anyway?” Wheeljack asked. “You were one of those extremely loyal Cons. Even Starscream stayed with Megatron until the end, and we all know how loyal he is.”

Dreadwing grew grimmer than he already was and took his time to answer. It was almost like he wasn't so sure himself. “I did it for my brother. Those who are not twins cannot understand. Starscream disgraced my honored brother's memory, and Lord Megatron let the matter remain that way, unsettled. That is... Unforgivable. Like nothing else could ever be.”

There was a special brand of bitterness and grudge in the atmosphere after that, and Wheeljack actually felt something akin to sympathy for the Decepticon across from him. He imagined he had felt something like that when Ultra Magnus had been positioned as the Commander of the Wreckers and the old gang just wasn't like it used to be, even though several of them had already either left or fallen by that point.

“It's true I don't have a twin, and I've never had a sparkbond of any kind, but I think I get it. Never liked change that much, at least not when everything changed at once and left me to my own devices,” Wheeljack said in a manner like a confession, his gaze fixated into his drink.

“I take it's not going that well for you either,” Dreadwing said.

“Yeah, it's not. I used to actually be content with my job. Now I... I hate it,” Wheeljack said, finally voicing a thought that had been slowly brewing in the back of his processor, eroding away.

“I wonder would the war have started if we had known then this is how we'd feel afterwards,” Dreadwing said. 

“Ifs and buts...” Wheeljack sighed and downed his cube. 

They sat in silence again for several klikcycles. Six-Shot came around with two more cubes without prompting, briefly touched Dreadwing's shoulder as she went by and left them be again. Despite the heavy, personal subjects and the fact they were complete strangers to each other the silence remained comfortable. The conversation had brought deep grief and anger back to surface like dregs when a pot was stirred, but paradoxically it was almost enjoyable. At least they shared it instead of slowly poisoning themselves with it for a change.

“Bulkhead is going to be looking for me. Probably already is since the working cycles are over,” Wheeljack said and felt a sting of guilt at worrying his friend, but the thought only made him feel even more reluctant to return before his watchful optics.

Dreadwing tilted his helm and inspected Wheeljack carefully. “You have companions who care for you still,” he spoke.

“Yeah... Not that it matters that much. Lately... Lately it's been so hard talking to anyone, like I'm lonely even though I'm surrounded by familiar bots. You know?” Wheeljack said, explaining his messy feelings as much to himself as he did to Dreadwing. Wheeljack couldn't make much sense out of his own spark right now. It felt like what should have been vibrant light had soured into dull mist and white noise that messed up everything inside his processor. 

“I can imagine,” Dreadwing said after brief consideration. “Decepticons are communal bots, but not particularly the kind to bond with others or open up.”

Wheeljack groaned. “Ugh, you're making me feel kinship to your people.”

“Considering that you're running from your own friends it might not be such a bad thing.”

Wheeljack propped his helm up against his palm and narrowed his optics at Dreadwing, who looked back with a serious and neutral expression. The Con was a hard one to read, since he mostly possessed only one expression with some variations of that serious look. 

“What do you think will happen if I don't go back tomorrow?” Wheeljack muttered. The question felt hard and heavy when it was still in his vocalizer, like a lump in his windpipe and something cold and sticky on his glossa. He wasn't sure what he meant by that and felt a cold sweep of fear at the possible implications.

“Then you will be a fugitive,” Dreadwing answered, neutral and truthful.

“And you're a free mech even though you were one of Megatron's generals,” Wheeljack remarked. “Oh the irony.”

“World has never been simple. Or fair for that matter. The fate of my twin and my survival is a proof of that,” Dreadwing said grimly. “To me, my twin going offline alone on a strange world galaxies away from here and I still living on here, redeemed of all my deeds, is painfully ironic.”

Wheeljack tilted his helm some more and leaned a bit closer as if he could see something more on the other mech's faceplate that way. He wondered what a shared spark would feel like and did Dreadwing truly have only a half left of his. It occurred to him that the Decepticon across from him probably felt a thousand times lonelier than he did.

“I don't think I have the energy to drive back to my side of town,” Wheeljack said. “Nor do I have the energy to go back to my apartment, explain myself to Bulkhead, or go back to work tomorrow. I don't feel like doing any of that.”

Dreadwing regarded him for a long moment, turning his almost empty cube around in his servo and his empty red optics measuring Wheeljack over and over again. It was a long while of silence and optic contact, but that same understanding, bizarrely empathetic and comfortable feeling was still there. 

“If you'd like to you can recharge over at my place. It will be crowded but I won't mind,” Dreadwing finally offered. 

“I'd like that,” Wheeljack said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And such was the breaking point. It was reached. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please leave kudos and perhaps drop a comment. I accept all kinds of feedback and value your thoughts and opinions.  
> See you!


	20. Impossible yet natural allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, dear readers! I must apologize, I should have called an official hiatus in Decemeber but I did try to write and edit all the way through. That didn't work out, as you can probably tell. December was murder, and January and the new semester is already taking a toll on me. But I'm doing better now, and we have an update finally!
> 
> Thank you all who read this fic, who left interesting and wonderful comments, gave kudos and bookmarked this work. You are amazing!
> 
> In this chapter our imprisoned leaders are let out in the open air, and it's a great opportunity for flea market and to be acquainted with thy enemy.
> 
>  **EDIT 5.9.2017! For new readers:** Please feel free to comment on old chapters. I see that hits-number going up and I have no idea who you are!

Optimus had it in his nature to keep things organized, and that was best accomplished with a list.

His list was for the apartment, of what he thought he and Megatron might need and which of those things his savings might buy them. His budget was very narrow since one never knew when a surprising expense might come along, especially in the uncertain situation they lived in, but he also knew of bots who had shut down due to lack of fuel while carrying energon rations because they tried to save them for later. 

The computer was a priority. He knew they needed more processing units and at least two more hard drives, perhaps a new screen extension too, and ports that could process datarods. 

After those they could consider furniture and other household items. Another set of sheets would be nice as well since their request for washing powder hadn't gone through yet (Optimus found this laughable: as if they could make a bomb with their laundry). A low table for the living room would be nice but not necessary. 

He also wished he could smuggle in some kitchen tools like a knife set and a bigger mashing bowl, if only so that he could made rust sticks, mineral crumbs and spices for his energon. Not that he'd mention that to Megatron, who had made many extensive speeches back in the old Kaon how a gladiator knew no pleasures in life and how sweeteners and decorations and flavored brews of energon were silly luxuries that distracted bots from what was really important.  
Optimus opened cupboards in their kitchen, counting the cubes they had, and thought how he had been quiet then and just listened in awe about the harsh life his Kaonian friend led. If he had then been like he was now, he would have made a pointed remark how hypocritical it was to look down on sweets while drinking high-grade at every given chance. The memory made him smile to himself.

Their first public appearance was today. Optimus was going to squeeze every single benefit out of the opportunity to go outside, and he wasn't going to let Megatron's sulking ruin it: Megatron was considerably less glad about going outside into the view of the public optic, and Optimus suspected it had everything to do with them being together. 

It was only a cycle until their ride. Guards would soon come to fetch them to the second-hand market in the southern district near the railway station, and Megatron had spent the last two cycles sitting on the couch, staring right ahead and stewing by himself while Optimus walked around the apartment with his list on a datapad and prepared. As far as Optimus knew the only preparation Megatron had made was to take a shower and spend an extra klikcycle before the wash-rack mirror to see if he had any suspicious dents or scratches that would compromise his image as an invincible force of nature.  
Optimus couldn't care less how passive-aggressive Megatron planned on being as long as they'd get at least one hard drive more to their computer console and he could keep working on it, and this he repeated to himself like a chant to gather his patience.

Shopping. How absurd a thing to do with Megatron, and judging by the look in the Kaonian's optics it was going to be much more difficult than fighting and destroying Unicron could have ever been. 

The guards came on the appointed cycle exactly, and the car ride was still in the same windowless vehicle. It was almost exactly the same as the visit to the Hall of High Powers had been, but once they got to their destination and stepped out of the vehicle, the crowd's reaction wasn't nearly as dramatic. To the relief of them both bots didn't freeze to stare at them, and even though considerable number of them did look and some stared, the vast majority seemed to be too preoccupied with their own business to really pay them attention and far too polite to allow themselves to be caught in the act of ogling them. 

“Hm. That's better,” Megatron muttered when they gazed over the large market they had arrived at.

“And I thought you liked the attention,” Optimus chuckled while scanning the area and mapping it for himself. 

“Not when I'm trying to do something,” Megatron slipped from the corner of his intake.

“Well then. Lucky for you, it looks like we get to be mostly in peace,” Optimus replied and started to walk towards the nearest stand. 

The market was a chaos, but surprisingly well managed one. The large plaza was full of stands, tents, tables and covers spread on the ground with a great variety of things for sale, everything you could imagine and everything that one could peel off a spaceship, a wreckage of a house or what they might have collected on their long exodus. Sellers tried to coax buyers to their merchandise by advertising them loudly, gesturing at everyone passing by, and the noise of advertising sellers and bots arguing about prizes was incredible.

“So what are we looking for?” Megatron asked when they made their way among the tables and stands.

Optimus threw him a disbelieving look. “You weren't interested in making the list back at the apartment,” he noted.

“But I am interested in its contents now that we're here,” Megatron said back.

Optimus sighed. “Alright, then. Here,” he said and pushed the datapad to Megatron, who quickly browsed through the list.

“Computer hard drives? Those are useful, but what the Pit do we need another table for?” Megatron scoffed once he was done and pushed the list back to Optimus.

Optimus glared. “Well... We don't _need_ it, but I thought it would be nice.”

“That's ridiculous,” Megatron snorted, turning back to subtly admire a table full of dismantled weaponry when they walked by it. The bot standing behind the table smiled a tight, nervous smile and seemed to sigh in relief when they didn't stop. 

“What do you care? You said it's my credits and that I can spend them how I want, which I plan to do,” Optimus muttered to Megatron.

“I'm just giving you a little critique, don't take it so personally,” Megatron slipped back to him with a hint of a snarl or a smirk on his faceplate.

“I'm not taking it personally,” Optimus said a bit harsher than he meant to, then lowered his voice to add: “I'm just saying that if you wanted to criticize, you should have done it when I was making the list so I could have taken a notice, not now when the list has already been made. That's. All.” 

“Fair enough,” Megatron reluctantly said.

Optimus perked up. “Ah, computers!”

They stopped under a tent before a long table which was almost overflowing with computer parts. It had circuits, fans, processing units, hard drives, datarods, everything you could imagine, in pieces and whole, presumably working machines. The mech behind the table minding the store was a familiar one.

“Well hello there!” Infra greeted them happily. “It's nice to see you were let out into open air for a change! How have you been, if I may ask?”

“Good day to you too. Everything's alright, thank you for asking,” Optimus replied with a smile and a polite nod. “How are Ground Zero and Glassrain?”

“Oh I'm so glad you asked!” Infra replied and practically beamed. “We are officially an amica bond now! Been for four moon cycles already. We don't all live together yet since it's hard to find an apartment for three that isn't booked for a conjunx trine, but we're in a line.”

“Congratulations,” Optimus said and smiled. It seemed that the day would involve at least some good news.

Infra's gaze flicked to Megatron who stood there quietly, his presence too heavy and intimidating to be ignored and the mech himself too proud to be awkward. 

“How can I help you today?” Infra said then, steering the situation into a more scripted direction.

“Ah, yes, I was hoping to hook some extensions to our currently very modest computer console,” Optimus said, quickly scanning the merchandise on display. “I was hoping to buy at least two more hard drives and maybe a screen, if possible.”

“Well you're in luck that you happened by my humble business then,” Infra said and bent down to reach something beneath the table. “You see, I don't only sell my own extra junk, but act as a middleman for other bots' surplus technology as well! You don't believe how many ships and shuttles have been torn apart and into how tiny pieces when bots get to move back into houses...”

Infra pulled out a large metal box and wrestled with it to lift it to the table. He slapped the side of it, clearly proud, as he presented its content. “Take a look, o' honored Prime!”

Optimus leaned forward and took a look, and his spark jumped in excitement. The devices inside the box were really worth the secrecy. The computer units were missing some of the casing, but Optimus could recognize an Iaconian processing unit with nothing but his tactile sensors anywhere, and these were definitely genuine, even though with some makeshift upgrades.

“I am impressed,” Optimus said, extremely pleased and smiled to Infra who grinned with pride. 

“You ought to be, too! Genuine Iaconian tech, harvested from a data processing center and used as an extra boost for a battleship during the war. Still in prime condition, with new spare parts and an upgraded cooling systems, all thanks to certain very handy Decepticons. Drives completely wiped of course, and I can't sell you an operating system, but somehow I have a feeling that's not a concern of yours,” Infra said, tapped the machines inside the black box and gave Optimus a meaningful look. 

“How much?” Optimus asked right away. 

“Well... This is some valuable stuff and hard to come by... But then again the demand for equipment in this condition isn't very great. Plus you're our Prime, plus I used to be an Autobot, plus I know you personally... I think I can work you a pretty sweet deal,” Infra thoughtfully mused, picked up a calculator from his subspace and tapped in a number. 

Optimus leaned down to the shorter mech's level so he could see the number on the screen better, and even Megatron who faked indifference took a sideways glance at it. 

Optimus was quiet for a long moment. “Are you sure you're willing to part with these?”

“Absolutely,” Infra said, then took a quick careful glance at the guards that were escorting the pair, now standing across a respectful distance, lowered his voice and added: “Besides, if someone's going to put these bundles of joy in a good use, that would be you, Optimus Prime. The Council can say whatever they want, but they won't undo a blessing of Primus. Or the Autobot cause, for that matter.”

Optimus stared at Infra, suddenly very alert but also feeling more certain than he had during the entirety of his imprisonment. He hadn't been forgotten after all, and the idea still lived on in bots who had followed him. 

Infra straightened up and smiled the best customer service smile he had. “So, I assume you'll pay with a card? Shall I wrap these up or can I get you something else?”

Optimus ended up buying a handful of smallish datarods and a viewing screen he had planned to get, and a good one too since he could afford it after the generous deal Infra had arranged for the computer units, and finally everything was put in boxes which were then sealed. They resulted in a quite a pile of shopping, and that was when Megatron got an idea and stepped in.

“Allow me,” he said to Optimus, took boxes with the screen, the wires and cables and pushed them to their guards. “Make yourselves useful and take some of these,” he said before they had the chance to resist, then hoisted the valuable black box with their precious computer units on his own shoulder. 

“Shall we go then?” Megatron asked with a mockingly polite tone to Optimus, then turned to Infra. “We have a small and low table to find.”

Optimus almost smiled. 

They continued to walk through the crowds and dodging past the narrow maze of tables and tents. Their guards were weighed down by the cargo pushed into their servos and they were slowly dragging more and more behind them, barely keeping up and definitely outside the hearing range, which Optimus was sure pleased both himself and Megatron. 

The outskirts of the market were mostly reserved for larger stands than just tables. Many compartment vehicles and tape-fenced areas took up business spaces, and the selling of furniture and other large items was focused there. Separating the looser outside from the crowded inner circle of the marketplace was a tall metal structure that had a clock screen on top and otherwise was stacked full of advertisement.  
Underneath that there were two bots, waiting for them. 

Optimus and Megatron were taller than the average bot so they were easy to spot, and Arcee and Bulkhead rushed to meet them, both crowding on Optimus, who accepted their enthusiastic greetings with a smile.

“Optimus! So good to see you outside! How are you?” Arcee greeted him with exceptional warmth as Bulkhead reached to shake his servo, beaming.

“It's good to see you as well. I'm quite fine, thank you for asking, and thank you for coming here,” Optimus greeted back, taking his time with the friendly contact with both of them.

“Of course we came!” Bulkhead assured him, and Arcee joined in: “It's our pleasure. However we can help you.”

As the Autobots exchanged their sparkfelt pleasantries, all of them electing to ignore the Decepticon present, Megatron stood by and scanned the crowd with careful optics. Nobody had time to waste for a public confrontation, and the current of bots passing by was calm as well. They fit in.

“Do you have anything at home?” Bulkhead asked Optimus as they walked past the first few sellers and their trucks of varying furniture.

“Necessities. It's not a prison cell but not a hotel either,” Optimus diplomatically answered. “We're looking for some practical additions, dishes and lamps. We already got the tech we need.”

The usage of 'we' made Arcee and Bulkhead throw the first glance at Megatron, who walked by Optimus' side in silence, still observing their surroundings. He was a hard mech to ignore due to his size and the noise his pedes made on each step, but since he wasn't trying to pick a fight with anyone they managed. That said, it wasn't exactly comfortable.

Optimus seemed to sense the rising awkwardness and directed the attention away from it by asking: “How are Bumblebee and Smokescreen?” 

Arcee perked up. “They are managing, not much has changed since we last spoke. They are both asking about you a lot, and I really hope they could go to school or something. They are both bored, but only Smokescreen is very vocal about it.”

“I see,” Optimus said, frowning. “I hope they really go to school the first thing they'll do when the dust finally settles.”

Megatron snorted, but no one acknowledged it, instead choosing to continue pointedly ignore the Decepticon's entire presence. He didn't make any comments, and so the momentarily spiked tension settled again.

“And how about you, Bulkhead? How are things with you and Wheeljack?” Optimus asked. 

“I don't actually know... Jackie hasn't... been himself lately. He's not talking much and doesn't like the work anymore,” Bulkhead confessed, his voice heavy with worry and betraying his true feelings despite the brave smile he put on.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Optimus said, almost sighed. Wheeljack was the one member of his team he hadn't had the chance to get to know very well, and Wheeljack wasn't exactly the type to let bots get close to him right a way. “But he has you. He's lucky to have a caring friend like you.”

Bulkhead smiled wider at the kind words. “Thanks... But I still think Jackie's been a soldier for too long. He has always come around before, but what if he won't this time?”

Arcee seemed worried too. Optimus couldn't see her expression because she was walking ahead of him, but her voice was soft and deep like always when she discussed serious matters: “He's been in a bad mood too. We met a few weeks ago, and he drank in the middle of the day cycle and was irritated just for the fun of it. He grazed rims with Ultra Magnus.”

“That's nothing new,” Bulkhead chuckled fondly through his worry. “Jackie's gotta have his own way with things.”

They were interrupted when Megatron spoke up, but only to Optimus and after poking him with his elbow: “There's a table for you.”

They stopped, Optimus rubbed his side, and Bulkhead and Arcee turned around. They had passed multiple sellers and their merchandise, but finally found one that at least caught Megatron's attention. The spot was mostly occupied by a large vehicle, and the contents of its compartment had been spread out, sorted by function and placed in neat groups. 

“Well this place has everything,” Bulkhead said as he took a look around, and he was right. There were chairs, tables, drawers, desks, couches and storage cases. There were paddings, kettles, cubes, spoons, knives, pieces of decorative plating and more.

Two sleek, black and purple and yellow seekers seemed to be the sellers, and the braver one of them confidently strode towards the potential clients. 

“Welcome, honored Primal Bond,” he greeted smoothly although the phrase made the bizarre group of four wince. “Can I help you? Is there something special you're looking for?”

“Yes. That table, at least,” Megatron said right a way and pointed at the piece of furniture he had stopped them for. It was a low living-room table with metal legs, a black top and a clear glass on top of it, and Optimus had to admit it was perfect for its intended purpose, even if he doubted Megatron had thought that far.

“You just can't leave matters be, can you?” Optimus dryly remarked to Megatron, who threw him a blazing look.

“Have you ever known me to leave things unfinished?” he countered.

“I must say no, but that is not necessarily a good thing,” Optimus replied with a voice that was clear and steady like iron. 

“There you have it,” Megatron said to the seeker who bravely smiled his customer service smile despite the arising argument between the infamous enemies standing before his market spot. “We'll take it. Our honorable Prime wants a table in the living-room so he shall have one.”

“Certainly,” the seeker said, pretending he didn't hear the petty tone. “Could I offer something else?”

“Yes, please,” Optimus cut in, stepped forth and gestured Arcee and Bulkhead closer. “Ignore him from now on, please. We'd also like some kitchen ware, a few chairs for the dining table, a small desk and maybe pillows if you have any? My friends will help us carry them.”

The other seeker hopped to his partner's aid and they started to present and gather the requested items. Megatron stayed behind on the walkway instead of taking interest in the purchases, and Optimus admitted to himself he preferred it that way. He felt almost normal when he spent time with two of his friends doing something as mundane as shopping household items and furniture, and ended up getting two chairs, three pillows and a box full of cubes, plates, glasses and cups and on the top of the bargain two large berth sheets. 

When all was packed and stacked up and they were ready to go Optimus led them back to Megatron, who had gotten company while the three Autobots had been sealing the deal: The guards had found and caught up with them, all of them exhausted and taking a rest from carrying all the sensitive computer hardware, but in addition to them someone else had joined Megatron's company as well. Soundwave was still as sleek and discreet as ever and most likely didn't catch the optic of a stranger in the crowd, but Team Prime had been very closely acquainted with him, and the former third in command was definitely worth the attention.

Arcee and Bulkhead frowned at Soundwave when they returned to their curious company, but Optimus focused his questioning gaze at Megatron. 

“Soundwave happened by and generously offered to help us carry our things,” Megatron smoothly explained. 

Optimus had his reservations about this, but the guards gladly handed over one of the heavy boxes and the smaller one with the datarods to Soundwave, and Optimus decided to keep his protests and questions to himself, and Arcee and Bulkhead followed his example. 

They walked the entire way back to the tower block where Optimus and Megatron resided. Arcee, Bulkhead and Optimus casually chatted the whole time, Megatron and Soundwave kept close and quiet, and the guards tailed them, hurrying their steps to keep up with their frisk pace while keeping a respectful distance. It was fun while it lasted, but the extra company didn't get any further than the lobby. 

They loaded all the furniture and boxes into one of the industrial elevators, and after that lengthy good-byes followed. Both Arcee and Bulkhead were as reluctant to leave as Optimus was to let them go, and finally in order to put an end to the farewells the guards had to gently usher them out of the door and Optimus and Megatron towards the elevator. Soundwave simply raised his servo to Megatron before turning and walking out without a word. 

The elevator doors had barely closed when Megatron started to comment: “Your underlings are such precious little workers. I can barely believe you invited them to carry your things for you.”

Optimus didn't make any effort to suppress the heavy sigh that pushed out of his vents. He had truly enjoyed the afternoon outside and the company of his friends, despite the unwanted extra additions to said company, but that was clearly now over.

“I asked for help because I needed it. That is not uncommon,” he replied.

“It was in Kaon,” Megatron countered with a scoff and Optimus rolled his optics. “I was surprised your pet medic wasn't there, though.”

“Ratchet?” Optimus said. Saying his old friend's name made his spark ache. “I didn't want to meet him like this.”

“So you prefer to meet him in the cell upstairs,” Megatron said with a questioning tone and a sideways glance at him.

“That is beside the point,” Optimus replied with a hint of irritation in his voice. “I didn't want to cause a scene in public. And I think having him meet you would have been bad judgment on my part.”

Megatron threw his helm back and laughed. “That little pet of yours really hates me!”

“He does, and he's not the only one, but he just might be the only bot on this planet who would pick an argument with you,” Optimus said.

“So you're protecting him?” 

Optimus gave the taller mech a look with raised optic ridges. “More like protecting you, actually.”

Megatron scoffed again.

The elevator arrived to their floor and they began to haul their new belongings first to the corridor and then through the door to their apartment. Megatron made himself useful and picked up as much of heavy boxes and furniture as he could manage at once and carried them inside. Optimus let him have his little display of power without a comment, picked up the lighter boxes with the new dishes and dragged them to the kitchen, where he organized them by purpose and size before starting to wash them in the sink.

Before long Megatron finished putting all the furniture where it belonged and had no excuse to move heavy objects anymore, and after a moment he appeared in the kitchen as well. Optimus let him linger by the doorway and stare at his back without a comment no matter how awkward the silence became, and the other met the unspoken challenge readily. 

When Optimus was finally finished with washing the dishes and turned around, Megatron was still there.

“Did you want something?” Optimus asked.

“Hook up the computer units. The equipment is familiar to you, so you should do it,” Megatron replied. His voice was demanding and Optimus entertained the thought of blowing him off. But as it happened he had planned to do that next anyway, and getting the computer into its best condition would be god for the both of them, and so without a word he strode towards the study, Megatron right at his heel.

Optimus was careful when he took the new computer units from their box and set them next to the already hooked up ones. He organized the cables and wires and compared the ports and predicted the equipment would most likely work perfectly together after a basic calibration and a few adapters between them, and so he started to hook the new parts in with the old ones. Thanks to their little shopping trip he could move the screen and the controls on a desk while the hard drives and central units remained on the floor. 

Megatron watched him the entire time and for once in his life was content to let him work in peace without offering any sort of criticism or input of his own. Optimus found he worked better that way, and with his extended experience the console's extensions were soon ready and he could boot up the system.

“Just a moment. I'll have to recalibrate the software,” Optimus said as he pulled up the settings and started to work on those. When he was ready he restarted the whole system, and after installation of the updates everything came online as smooth and efficient as Optimus recalled the Grand Archives being.

“There,” he said with deep satisfaction,”all finished, except for one little thing.”

“And what's that?” Megatron asked.

Optimus turned to look at him. “The reason why Arcee really came to see me.” He reached into his subspace and pulled out a removable drive. “I asked her to bring me a couple of well-trusted programs to make our computer truly secure and private.”

Megatron raised his optic ridges. “Didn't you wipe the drives already?”

“Yes, I did, but connecting to the network is risky and no doubt supervised. After I'm done installing these, we will be practically invisible and all spyware will be rendered useless.”

“That is good news,” Megatron admitted, then picked up the box with the datarods. “I must say I am impressed with you exercising some less honest ways nowadays. As it happens, my third in command also brought me a little something.”

He picked up one of the datarods and twirled it in his servo. “Install the cloaking programs, Prime, so we can take a look at our enemies.”

Optimus was intrigued, and he turned back to the computer, pushed the drive Arcee had delivered into a port and started to download its contents. Once the installation was complete, Megatron handed the rod to him, and Optimus pushed it into another port.

What opened up on the screen was a neat list of files, all password protected and in alphabetical order.

“What's the password?” Optimus asked with his digits hovering over the keyboard.

“Victory,” Megatron replied.

Optimus didn't make a comment, just typed in the password and the first of the files opened. Optimus raised his optic ridges and turned to look at Megatron, who gave him a self-satisfied smirk.

“I didn't meet Soundwave for nothing either,” he said.

“So it seems,” Optimus admitted. He had to hand it to Megatron and his spy, this was some interesting and useful information.

Before them on the screen was displayed meticulously collected information about each council member, most likely everything Soundwave had managed to extract in a week. They both leaned forward and began to read.

Ratbat's file had little new information. They already knew him to be the only surviving member of the old High Council and a neutral. They didn't need Soundwave to tell them Ratbat was a conservative and a big defender of functionalism, but what came as a surprise to them was that he was also only one who had not been elected by vote of the Red Star citizens but rather granted an honorary seat by the vote of the other serving council members.

Arc Flame was a femme of neutral standing as well, and Optimus was disappointed to find out that many of her speeches were carefully bland and that she had refused to take the side of any political agenda. Her position as the Chairman seemed to be based on her neutral stand in everything, and her diplomacy was the key, both peaceful but also unproductive.

Actinide was an interesting one. She was the only council member who had once been a Decepticon, and her file showed she had had a part in their sentence as she had been one of the four liaisons requested by the three judges of the Justice, and the only one who had been against their execution. She was originally from Kaon, and before the war been a devoted servant of Primus, mostly doing charity and social work. She seemed to be the most radical voice in the council, and her voters were mostly Decepticons themselves.

Hoist and Levitacus were both former Autobots but nowadays most often taking Arc Flame's neutral side in arguments, though they were both outspoken about the rights and treatment of mining workers and on the other hand refused all comments about military matters. Soundwave had added a footnote that Hoist and Stormsplitter had had many disagreements in the past about the subject of military and the role of the soldiers, which made sense considering Stormsplitter had been the head of the Red Star's armed forces. 

Starlight was another interesting one. She hadn't been on either side during the war, but had spent most of the early stellar cycles during the war protesting for peace and acting as a medic for soldiers on both sides. Despite her strictly neutral standing and relatively conservative political visions she was outspoken against functionalism and seemed to agree most with Actinide as they shared strong religious bond, even though Actinide was Primusian and Starlight confessed the less popular pantheistic spiritual philosophy of Solus. 

Nova was a former Autobot, served during the war in the small-numbered Air Force, and had a background in administrative law. His file didn't have anything else, suggesting either that there was nothing worth mentioning or that there was much more but carefully hidden. 

Avalon was a neutral even though she had briefly served in Vosian air force after Starscream had started to make ties with the Decepticons. Avalon had deserted just before Vos had been claimed as a Decepticon-controlled city, taken refuge in the neutral temples of Solus and served as a medic there before boarding the Red Star. 

“Well this is interesting,” Optimus said once they had read every file. 

“Indeed. One should always know their enemy, and it looks like aside from Actinide all of the Council are those to me,” Megatron agreed.

Optimus suppressed a sigh. “I don't think you should jump into conclusions so quickly. Many of them have been neutral.”

“I wouldn't count on that. Neutral might sound nice and peaceful to you, but you are overlooking that since those bots weren't on either side, they were technically against us both. In my experience there are only three kinds of neutral bots: Conservative oppressors, cowards, and those who hated the war and all who took a side in it. That mean the neutral members hate us both equally,” Megatron argued back.

Optimus turned the argument over in his mind and had to admit it might hold some merit. “That may be true, but each one of them should still be judged individually. They were elected by fair vote, and they have been among both Autobots and Decepticons for a long time.”

“That's true. But not all were voted in their position,” Megatron reminded him and an expression of disgust rose onto his faceplate, making his upper lipplate bare his fangs. 

Optimus nodded. “Ratbat has his seat simply out of respect for tradition,” he said. “That means his stand is not as strong as the others'. Getting him down from there will be easier than I first thought.”

Megatron's snarl turned into an expression of honest surprise, and he seemed genuinely taken aback by Optimus' comment. “Optimus Prime the pacifist, what is this talk about dismantling our legal government?” 

Optimus rolled his optics. “Have you forgotten I protested alongside with you before the war broke out? I might not have wanted to shoot anyone, but I _did_ very much want to dismantle the old system and expel every single functionalist and conservative politician who was pro-caste from the High Council and all positions of legal power.”

The look Megatron gave him was full of mischief and intent, and slowly his surprise morphed into a smug and somewhat inviting smirk. “Optimus, you are a radical.”

Optimus answered the smirk with a pursing of his lipplates and pushed his chin forward. “I always was, and I can't believe you have forgotten that.”

Megatron chuckled, and his smirk grew. It made Optimus feel a hot flash of nostalgia and he smiled back. 

“Well, well... We might actually be useful to each other after all,” Megatron said with a smooth, dark voice and chuckled. 

Optimus' spark pulsed in a manner that reminded him why he should keep his gaze forward instead of lingering in thoughts of the past, and he turned back towards the computer screen. “Our network connection should be secure now, but I'll keep a watchful optic on our computer and the system and update it frequently. Still we should both remain careful with it and not take the privacy for granted,” he said.

“You don't have to remind me again,” Megatron said. Optimus could still hear that smirk in his voice. “The first time you spoke to me you reminded me of watching optics and wrong audial receptors that might catch me. I don't make same mistake twice.”

Optimus swallowed. He felt another flash of heat going through his systems at the memory, but then firmly reminded himself of everything that had happened after that and of the current moment, his duty and the people he served. “Then you understand what is at stake here. Let's keep collecting intelligence and keep planning our next move,” he said and was relieved how calm and professional he sounded. 

“Always so professional, aren't you,” Megatron said, the smirk gone from his voice. “But even you can't downplay how well we work against a common enemy, and it looks like that will be the situation for some time. Ratbat is a tough little vermin after all.”

“Yes, he is. But we both want to see him gone and take the last shreds of functionalism with him,” Optimus said and paused, carefully weighing his next words, what he really meant by them and what their consequences might be. “You stood up for me last stellar cycle. When we were just prisoners of war and he came in our cell to gloat. Do you remember?”

Megatron didn't reply instantly but was simply a looming presence behind Optimus, who didn't dare to turn around to look at his faceplate.

“I remember alright,” Megatron finally said. 

“What happened to us?” Optimus asked before he could swallow the question.

“You betrayed me,” Megatron grunted, turned and left the room. 

Optimus sighed and flicked the computer off, and as it hummed while powering down, he quickly got up and followed Megatron. Some things were like walls on your path and there was no going around them, and at some point one had to try to climb over.

“Megatron, please don't be like that. Let's discuss this for once,” Optimus called after him when he stepped out of the study, looking for the other mech with his gaze.

“What's there to talk about?” Megatron scoffed, his voice coming from the kitchen. “We have enough deeds and fighting and husks of comrades between us, and talking nonsense about those isn't going to change that!”

Optimus followed the voice and found the other before the window, leaning on its frame. Megatron glared at Optimus.

“I know it can't be changed, but it doesn't mean it should just be left to be,” Optimus insisted. 

“Why not? What's done is done and no matter how much you want to flap your vocalizer about that, it's no use. Just because we're locked up together and a part of this ridiculous farce doesn't mean I will suddenly want to mend my ways, find the light and start to praise Primus,” Megatron growled, a disgusted snarl fast taking place on his faceplate. He bristled with irritation and it flashed off him in waves like a warning.

“I didn't mean it like that,” Optimus said. He was getting frustrated at the same rate Megatron was getting angry, and that frustration brought forth old sadness he had pushed away. He didn't know how to dress it up in words or how to make Megatron understand it, to understand him. “We're back at the beginning of sorts. There's no war, no factions, no immediate duty for anyone. It's just you and I again.”

Megatron was quiet and regarded Optimus with unreadable optics. Then he scoffed and turned to look out of the window. “Call this what you want, Prime, it's not going to last. I will get out of here soon.”

Optimus frowned. “And then what? You'll just start a war again?”

“You'll see soon enough,” Megatron snapped. “Now if you _please_ , leave me be and take your righteous blabbering with you.”


	21. An unstoppable force without a name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time, dear readers! This fic recently passed 400 kudos and it made me really happy, so thank you to everyone who left kudos and commented on this.
> 
> And now, let's get the plot moving~

By the time his turn to visit Optimus came along Bulkhead was nervous beyond belief. He had a lot on his spark, worries for others as well as for himself, and he didn't know where to begin to untangle the mess. And adding to that, he had an entire cycle of alone time with Optimus, something that had never happened before. 

On Earth he had rolled his optics when Ratchet had insisted that he knew Optimus like none of them did, but now Bulkhead was beginning to see the medic's point: He didn't really know Optimus personally, not in a sense that he could imagine Optimus living a regular day-to-day life like the rest of Cybertronian people, nor could he come up with a subject to talk about other than battle plans or a crisis in their servos.

He was anxious and had only just arrived at the lobby of the building Optimus lived in, but his personal worries were momentarily forgotten when he caught a sight of the Decepticon medic just passing through the security. This made Bulkhead raise optic ridges: he had had no idea they shared a rank. He lingered behind intentionally so he wouldn't end up in the same elevator.

After a moment Bulkhead awkwardly checked through the security, and his nervousness only increased during his way up. Seeing Downshift expecting him there eased the restless feeling a bit, and he smiled down at the social worker maybe more gratefully than he should have.

“Hi, Downshift! How's it going?” he greeted the mech, who smiled at him in return.

“I am well, thank you. Nice to see you too. I have just briefed Knockout, so you can have a nice private chat with me as well. I assume your friends have told you a bit about the arrangements here, but I'll tell you the same things. If something is unclear, just ask. So you have one cycle to discuss what ever you want, there is a microphone system in place and you won't be recorded, but please do not touch the glass or try to pass or receive anything, okay?”

“Yeah, uh, Arcee already told me,” Bulkhead said, servo scratching the back of his helm. “But I was wondering... About the thing I messaged you yesterday?” 

Downshift's smile dimmed a bit, giving way for a more serious expression. He looked concerned and tapped away on his datapad. “Yes, I've been checking my files and asked around a bit. I take it Wheeljack hasn't returned or contacted you since yesterday either?”

“No, he hasn't,” Bulkhead admitted. Worry and anxiety welled up in his tanks and made him shuffle his pedes. He had barely recharged last night and didn't think he was going to give Optimus a very good impression in this state. “I'm really worried about him. It's not like Jackie to disappear without saying anything. He knows I'd worry!”

Downshift hummed in agreement, but moved a bit awkwardly like he was about to deliver bad news. “I know you two are close, and it seems to me you have been an invaluable help to him. I apologize, but I must ask you this: Could it be possible he is trying to escape serving his sentence?”

Bulkhead straightened to his full height and shook his helm firmly. “No! No, I'm telling you, Jackie isn't like that! He's not always the best team player, but his duty means everything to him!”

“But it is true that he deserted the Wreckers unit,” Downshift pointed out as carefully as he could, his polite smile tight and shoulders tense. 

“The unit was already disbanding by then! And Jackie didn't like the new Commander Ultra Magnus at all, and I wasn't there by that time either. So he left the ranks, but he didn't give up the fight! He was always there to fight when a situation arose!” Bulkhead swore. Rationally he could understand why Downshift was making these accusations, but he couldn't stop himself from defending Wheeljack's honor, though he kept his voice down for Downshift's sake; the mech was just trying to help.

“I see. I believe you, but we must consider all possibilities. If he hasn't ran away, it's also possible that something has happened to him,” Downshift said, grimmer now. “He is a very high profile Autobot. Former Decepticons don't necessarily take kindly to that. Iacon is no Kaon in this manner, but he might have gotten in trouble.” 

Bulkhead didn't say anything, mainly because he couldn't fathom any Con being a match for Wheeljack, but a stubborn, gnawing doubt didn't leave him alone.

“I'll keep an optic on the situation and inform you of any developments,” Downshift promised. 

“Yeah... Yeah, thanks,” Bulkhead said. He had to accept that for now there was nothing he could do.

When he stepped through the door into the large room, Optimus was already waiting him in a glass cubicle. Bulkhead found the arrangement absurd and disrespectful, like the Council or whoever were responsible thought Optimus was going to escape or harm someone and treated him like an ordinary criminal. 

Optimus was smiling, but as Bulkhead got closer it faltered a bit. “Bulkhead, how nice to see you,” Optimus greeted him, but followed that with: “Is something wrong?”

Bulkhead sat heavily down on the visitor's chair and sighed. “Uh, something's up, sir. Jackie's not well.”

“There's no need to address me like that anymore, this is not a formal occasion and I've been stripped of my rank. Simply Optimus will do from now on. But do tell, what has happened with Wheeljack?” Optimus asked, looking clearly worried.

Bulkhead didn't know where to begin or how much to tell. He regarded Optimus for a moment and only now noted how tired the Prime seemed, like he had recharged even less than Bulkhead had, and on top of that he projected an aura of an exhausted war veteran that manifested more than it ever had. Maybe it was that the fighting had finally stopped and there was no next battle to look forward to, maybe it was that Optimus Prime had served his duty and the next step was the end, but something about him was definitely different than before.

“He's... He hasn't been to work for a few solar cycles,” Bulkhead said, smoothing over an entire week of absence and what Downshift had said. “And he's not talking to me.”

“I see,” Optimus said, humming grimly, deep in thought. “I didn't have the chance to get to know Wheeljack very well, but he seems like a bot who doesn't take well to change and needs to take his time to sort things out for himself. Did he open up to you?”

“No, he didn't,” Bulkhead said with a shake of his helm. “He's been real tired and quiet ever since we got sentenced.”

Optimus frowned, and a moment of silence went by. “It's hard for me to say without talking with him or seeing him, but maybe Wheeljack is depressed.”

“Ah-ah, that ain't Jackie. He doesn't do depression or any kind of giving up,” Bulkhead argued. 

“It doesn't necessarily say anything about one's character, Bulkhead,” Optimus gently corrected him. “But whatever the case, Wheeljack needs a friend right now. I'd suggest you try to get him to open up a little when you see him. Remind him of what he means to you, and to us all.”

“I'll do that,” Bulkhead muttered. He missed Wheeljack in a way he hadn't felt even during the centuries they had spent apart, but he pushed that aside for now to talk about something else than his own worries. “But how are you, Optimus? Arcee and Ultra Magnus both told us your regards, but how are you really doing? He isn't... Hurting you or anything?”

Optimus perked up. “Megatron? Oh, no. I've got his violent tendencies under control, don't worry. But we do... Argue.”

Bulkhead chuckled. “The old Buckethead doesn't seem like the type to use his words! Do you have any cubes or cups left anymore?”

Optimus hummed a laugh and looked down at his lap. “He actually does use his words, and he does that a lot. He is a very sharp and observant mech, he just... Doesn't understand himself that well. I wish I could make him _see_ , but... Well. Megatron remains Megatron.”

There was an odd note in Optimus' voice and his smile looked melancholic and genuine. Bulkhead was well in tune with others' emotions, but Optimus was a very private mech and controlled his emotions carefully, and that made him hard to read.

“Oh. Well that explains the angry horde following him. What do you talk about, then?” Bulkhead asked.

Optimus shrugged. “Right now mostly about how we could affect the Council and get them to lift the house-arrest. And... About some parts of the past. But he is a hard one to talk to. I empathize with you for having a friend like Wheeljack.”

Bulkhead couldn't help but to feel a slight sting of an insult at having Wheeljack and Megatron mentioned in the same sentence and compared to one another, but he kept that to himself. “Sounds like you're working on a hopeless case there, Optimus.”

“So I fear as well,” Optimus sighed. The emotion he was radiating was stronger now for a brief moment, and Bulkhead finally found a name for it: It was longing. 

“Hey, if anyone can reach him, it's gotta be you. Megatron respects you like no other Autobot, and I think he at least listens to what you have to say, even if he doesn't show it. He followed you across the galaxy, for Allspark's sake!” Bulkhead said and suddenly realized he was offering comforting words to Optimus. The thought was followed by another one: that maybe it was time for someone to worry about Optimus instead of Optimus always worrying about others. 

“Thank you, Bulkhead,” Optimus said and smiled. “You are a very kind bot. We are lucky to have you.”

“You just take care of yourself, Optimus. I'll take care of Jackie, and Arcee's taking care of the kiddos,” Bulkhead said while swearing to himself he would find Wheeljack and bring him home.

*

“I must say, my Lord, imprisonment does not suit you,” Knockout tutted, the very first thing he said when he threw himself in the chair before Megatron's glass cell.

“And you don't look at all like a bot struggling with minimum pay, doctor,” Megatron commented back. He didn't sit down with Knockout like he hadn't with Starscream, and regarded his former officer with the same professional distance and slight disdain.

Knockout smirked. “I find my way as always. Let's just say I'm putting my very talented and educated servos into good use,” Knockout said, and it wasn't hard to deduce what he was doing for living nowadays.

“That's probably just a public favor, considering the state of the societal structure. True Decepticons are needed on all walks of life,” Megatron said.

Knockout shrugged, pursing his lipplates. “Well I don't know about that, Lord Megatron. To be honest I was on board for no rules and maximum fun. Nowadays I have a rent to pay and a mech to woo, so I take what I can get,” he said, drawing the words out lazily. He lifted one leg over his knee and obnoxiously relaxed in his chair. 

“It figures. I hope you know the only reason you did so well under my command was because you were the only doctor aboard Nemesis,” Megatron remarked, crossing his arms.

“Trust me, I knew. I'm always very much aware of all the perks my profession brings me,” Knockout assured him overconfidently, but the languid smile that accompanied his words faltered when he went on. “Not that it's helping me with my future conquest.”

Megatron snorted. “If it's meant to be you'll figure it out.”

Knockout raised an optic ridge at him and in a klik the smirk was back. “'If it's meant to be'?” he repeated. “My, my, that's a rather romantic point from you, Lord Megatron. I honestly wouldn't have believed you to be a mech with such leanings.” 

Megatron didn't seem bothered or self-conscious by the notion. “You can work and fight for things you want all you like, but some things are beyond one's control. That means in this context you must openly pursue them regardless of the risk, because no matter the end result you got only yourself to blame. Back in the arena hesitating meant having your helm sliced off your shoulders.”

“Now that sounded more like a gladiator proverb than the 'meant to be' nonsense,” Knockout said, snapping his digits and pointing his index digit on Megatron.

“It's all about how you say it, isn't it? And don't even think about lecturing me about literature or poetics. I used to be friends with a librarian who could go on about those for cycles. I am well aware,” Megatron replied. 

“Wasn't going to suggest anything of sorts, Lord Megatron,” Knockout defended. He got the feeling Megatron might have meant Optimus Prime before the war and the granting of the Matrix of Leadership, but didn't want to press the matter by asking – and to be honest, he wasn't that interested in the past anyway. It was the future one could affect.

Megatron gave a noncommittal huff and rolled his optics at Knockout's comment, probably considered commenting on it below him.

There was a moment of silence that instantly became almost unbearably heavy. Knockout owed all his sass and confidence to the glass separating them. No matter how liberating it was to talk to Megatron in this manner, the intimidation and power wasn't dampened much by a simple glass wall, even if it kept him safe from immediate bodily harm. 

“So. How's bonded life treating you?” Knockout asked, sailing towards different waters.

Megatron gave him a flat glare. “What do you _think_?”

Knockout shrugged. “Well... I thought I'd ask. That's polite, right? Even though mainly it's just really, really _weird_.” 

Megatron regarded him quietly for a moment. The look in his optics was familiar: the cold, calculating one he usually had when he weighed his options and tactics, possibly how to punish incompetent subordinates or his enemies, and Knockout tried to smile as politely as he could to turn the odds in his favor. 

Megatron pulled the chair back and sat down. His spinal strut remained rigidly straight and he sat there on the modest seat like it was the command chair on the bridge of his mighty warship – and then he sighed. “It's bizarre. And if there's one thing in this whole wide universe I despise more than Optimus Prime, it is the High Council and everything they stand for, and now they have me on a _leash_. Can you even fathom what that feels like?”

“In all honesty, no I can't,” Knockout carefully answered. “But, continuing on the line of truth, I also can't imagine any kind of a leash or a shackle, either literal or a figurative, that would hold you back for long.”

Megatron snorted but couldn't completely cover how pleased he was at the comment. Knockout sighed inwardly in relief. 

“The Prime wants to talk,” Megatron suddenly said.

Knockout expected him to continue, but when he didn't, shrugged and raised his optic ridges. “I'm sure he does, he is a diplomat at spark. But about what?”

Megatron scoffed in frustration and rolled his optics, but not at Knockout but rather the situation he was in and what awaited him back in the apartment. “I am not even certain. He wants to debate ethics and law, I suppose. And some feelings. He's yelled at me, you know.”

Knockout leaned forward on his seat. Juicy gossip was one vice he hadn't ever been able to resist. “I can't really imagine Optimus Prime _yelling_. He seems more like the brooding, 'rational to the end' -type, maybe with some guilt-tripping.”

“No, he is a yeller, and a painfully honest one too. Or well, he yells at _me_ ,” Megatron specified and looked all too pleased about being at the receiving end of the Prime's unrestrained anger. 

“Interesting... And what about you? I am very surprised that you haven't terminated him yet,” Knockout threw back.

Megatron flashed him an expression of disgust. “He made a very convincing case for his spark when we first got here. I can't murder my own bondmate, after all. I am many things, but a spouse killer is something I won't become,” he begrudgingly explained.

Knockout shrugged. “The vows are meaningless without the actual bond. What you two have is a very thin veil of misinformation and propaganda.”

“Yes, but then I'd be remembered as the Primal Spouse who slayed his mate.”

“There are plenty of other things I can guarantee you will be remembered as and by. Besides when have you cared about what the Council says about you?”

Megatron didn't argue back, just stared down at Knockout with optics that had regained their sharp, toxic look. Knockout started to feel the warning tingling in the back of his neck again and feared he had pushed too far already. He reset his vocalizer and changed his arguing tone into the professional one of a doctor.

“You know... Talking might not be such a bad thing,” he suggested carefully.

Megatron's glare grew darker, his optic ridges drew closer together and optics narrowed. Knockout swallowed and licked his lipplates.

“Think about it, Lord Megatron. If there's one bot who you can trust to do the right, sensible and considerate thing... Well, you live with him. You should use that to your advantage,” he tried to reason without taking the Prime's side in this.

Megatron huffed, crossed his arms again and looked somewhere towards the ceiling. “You don't know that, and I don't know that. Optimus Prime isn't the bot he was before the war. I know his tactics, his battle plans, his fighting style and his tactical weak spots, but I don't actually know him.”

“Well... I apologize for being so blunt, Lord Megatron... But no one is the same they were before the war,” Knockout said. The thought that had provoked the words felt like a slippery, cold thing in the bottom of his tank, something that wasn't neither living nor dead. It made him nauseous, and he talked more to shake the feeling: “The bot I adore was someone completely different in the beginning of the war. I didn't even know them before well into the war time, but I still witnessed the change, and I think a big part of that change is still happening right before my optics. They lost two bondmates during the War for Cybertron, and I didn't even know this until a few weeks ago. No one knows what is happening, no one really knows their friends, and I don't think people know even themselves anymore.”

Megatron aligned his faceplate slightly away from Knockout while he vented, but he was certainly listening. He narrowed his optics and tapped his knee guard with his digits in a slow pace.   
“And what is your point, doctor?”

Knockout sighed. “My point is that knowing even _something_ about someone is a privilege now, and to not put that in use insults every survivor on this planet or still lost in space.”

Another long pause followed, and this one was even heavier than the one before, and Megatron focused his calculating gaze straight on Knockout again.   
Knockout hadn't ever felt so scrutinized and his value so thoroughly weighed, even when considering that Megatron had on several occasions yelled at him aboard the Nemesis. Somehow the former warlord's unblinking, steely stare was so much worse.

“Your opinion has been noted,” Megatron finally said. 

This time Knockout sighed out loud. He gathered himself for a moment, shifted on his seat and switched the positions of his legs. “I am glad to hear that. And not only because of sentimental reasons, but... Well...” He looked around, suddenly on guard as if fearing someone might overhear them. He leaned closer to the glass and lowered his voice when he spoke: “I was never a big fan of functionalism either. And it didn't escape me how 'intended functions' are now branded as 'job experience'. I might not have been the poster mech of a revolutionary, but damn us all to the Pit if the war was all for _nothing_!”

Megatron listened, and there was a new tone in his gaze now. Knockout recognized the look of a tactician who had already put wheels in motion. 

“You need to talk to Soundwave,” Megatron said in a conversational tone. “He was here last week and mentioned he might want to reconnect with old friends.”

There was something more that Megatron was purposefully avoiding saying, and it made Knockout simultaneously curious and nervous. He got up from his seat.

“It was nice talking to you, Lord Megatron. I must be on my way now,” he said, bowed in farewell and strode out. He had some new information to consider, Soundwave to locate and on top of those, he needed to come up with a way to tell Starscream about this all.

*

Optimus and Megatron returned from their visitations almost at the same time and met in the hallway outside their apartment. They awkwardly shifted around one another, Optimus opened the front door and they almost escaped inside their private domain and put space between each other.

Megatron instantly strode to the kitchen and to the cool compartment, took out a fresh bottle of rust-spiked coolant and cursed under his breath that high-grade was not an option on their supplies list. These one-on-one meetings were a bizarre experience now that there were no professional barriers or army ranks giving them a social script to follow and no military matters to discuss. Starscream had at least brought his usual schemes and wit with him, but Knockout had been just casual and chatty. Megatron hadn't ever just stopped to discuss meaningless everyday matters with him or given anyone a piece of romantic advice, ever. The new domain felt odd and disgustingly boring in its futility. 

The only bot still online Megatron considered something akin to a friend was Soundwave, and they had interacted outside the chain of command before the war when they had still lived and worked in Kaon. Soundwave had always been loyal and helpful and Megatron enjoyed his company, but even they hadn't ever gotten really close because no matter their companionship, they had still been gladiators. Megatron hadn't ever had a friend with whom there hadn't been a possibility of having to murder them in the future.   
Orion had been the first and the only one of those, and how ironic was that, considering the next couple of million stellar cycles after they had met.

Speaking of the devil, Optimus stepped into the kitchen as well, a datapad in servo and looking like he was bringing bad news.

“Just spit it out, whatever it is,” Megatron impatiently urged him before he had a chance to even open his mouth.

Optimus reset his vocalizer. “I checked my messages and it looks like we have a job for today.”

“What?” Megatron said, slamming the bottle down on the counter.

Optimus ignored the gesture and showed him the message on his datapad. “Yes. Downshift briefs us that we are to make an official appearance today in the honor of the First Day of Peace. A tradition from the Red Star, also Override and Stormsplitter's bonding anniversary.”

Megatron snatched the pad from Optimus and browsed through the message, picking up the core points. The more he read the more irritated he became, and Optimus' distant serenity was like white noise that made it worse. “They want us to... Put up prayer bells? This is ridiculous!” 

“It seems that way. I can see the merit in having us to publicly show our remorse, though,” Optimus said thoughtfully, and distracted with his own deep thoughts picked up the coolant bottle Megatron had drank half empty, and took a small sip. Megatron stared but didn't make a comment.

“One thing I don't understand is why I hear about this only now,” Optimus continued. “This is a big public event and an important tradition to the citizens of the Red Star Colony. It must have been on the news for weeks by now!”

Megatron scoffed and tossed the pad on the counter. “Don't you read the papers?”

“I do, that's the odd part! I do read the news every day, but I read nothing of _this_.”

Megatron pondered this, hummed thoughtfully and picked up the datapad again. He went through the files and opened yesterday's news and started to browse. 

“Ah, there's why you didn't see it,” he said when finally he found the title he was looking for. “Look. 'The Scandalous Primal Bond to appear at the Memorial on the Day of Peace'. It's in the gossip and entertainment section.”

Optimus stared at the big, bright headline and the picture below it. It was a blurry picture of them on the day they had bonded, standing on the balcony of the temple with their servos joined and raised in the gladiatorial victory gesture. Of course it had to be _that_ moment that had gotten immortalized. His face twitched with various, more or less repressed emotions, part of them a grudge against Megatron for forcing him to do the uncouth gesture along with him, a part of it shame and finally some embarrassment for seeing himself in such a context. Then he seemed to remember himself, pushed his feelings aside and brought himself back to the situation at hand.

“It looks like bots in power are doing their everything to remind us of our limited power. It tells us more about them than it does anything to us,” Optimus said.

Megatron snorted and rolled his optics, turned his gaze back at the datapad and inspected the short story again. “'Scandalous' now, are we? Imagine that.”

“Yes yes, truly distasteful,” Optimus hurried to dismiss, and his tone got a raised optic ridge from Megatron. Optimus avoided his gaze. The casual situation seemed to be making him awkward and restless, and Megatron wondered if Optimus' rigidness meant he was trying not to fidget.

*

They were once again fetched from their apartment by an honorary guard, but this time their usually so modest security had buffed their paint jobs and put on some extra decorative plates made out of mirrors and silver, though limited by regulations to preserve an impression of uniforms despite their varying frames. There were six of them, and they escorted Optimus and Megatron down, but this time not in the parking hall but in the lobby. 

The lobby would have normally been busy that time in the afternoon when bots working in the various businesses residing in the building were still in the middle of the working day, but the First Day of Peace was a national holiday and thus it was empty aside from the security.

Megatron and Optimus exchanged a look when they realized their guard was leading them outside to the streets instead of the windowless vehicle. Even though they were still indoors, they could both hear there was a crowd outside, waiting for them.

“Well _someone_ read the gossip section,” Megatron slipped from the corner of his intake.

Optimus didn't have the time to answer, because in the next moment they stepped out of the front doors and the noise exploded. In the bright afternoon sunlight they saw what was probably half of Iacon's population that had come out to celebrate and witness their bizarre Primal Bond. 

The guards guided them to the street that had been cleared and shielded from the public with fences and several police parties and security officers. Bots stared, yelled, cheered and flashed their headlights. There wasn't any signs of the press, and Optimus guessed they were manning the places closer to their destination.

Fences were put back in place behind them when they stepped on the cleared path, and they started their long walk across the Downtown and towards the Memorial Park. 

“These can't all be Red Star citizens,” Megatron muttered to Optimus after a few blocks.

“I agree,” Optimus slipped back. “I suppose the mood is infectious.”

“You know... I can't help thinking how perfect a crowd like this would be for a terrorist attack,” Megaton said.

Optimus felt a rush a cold going through him. The noise of the celebrating crowd, a tightly packed, vulnerable crowd, rang in his audio feed and his intake went dry.

“Is that a threat, Megatron?”

“No, it is not,” Megatron replied, a note of annoyance in it.

“A promise, then? Have you done something?” Optimus pressed on, struggling to keep his expression neutral.

Megatron gritted his dentae. “I haven't done anything, like I just _told you_. You should listen to me for a change.”

“I'd listen if you talked to me more,” Optimus mumbled, mostly to himself, but Megatron heard it. He suddenly thought of his earlier chat with Knockout, the advice he had given and wondered if he lived like he taught. 

When they arrived at the gates of the Memorial Park they were greeted by another party of high profile attendees. 

The Council Chairman Arc Flame stood there, tall and proud and her glimmering wings pointing toward high heavens, her servos neatly joined together before her. With her were council members Actinide and Nova, standing by her, one on each side, and opposite of them stood an odd couple who were celebrating their anniversary. 

Stormsplitter and Override stood there with their arms linked, despite their hight difference and Stormsplitter's armor plating that made coming close to her difficult, but Override seemed determined. Override's plating shone like the ocean, her sleek turquoise racer's form freshly painted and buffed, and her bondmate next to her would have been out-shined if not for her posture and domineering presence, her rust red wings jutting vertically from her frame, creating a bulky and powerful image. 

Optimus and Megatron stopped before the two small parties expecting them, and for a moment the chatter and cheering from the crowd turned down as well. The air rippled with expectations and tension.

Arc Flame stepped forth, and raised her servo. “The Council greets the people of Cybertron, and the honored Primal Bond! Each era must have its first day, and we are here to celebrate that one tremendous step, as well as to remember those who didn't live to see it!”

She and the two other council members bowed their helms towards Optimus and Megatron, who both played along and bowed back. Megatron made a mental note about how different Arc Flame appeared before the public compared to the fierce and absolute Chairman he had seen before in the Inner Sanctum of the Hall. 

When the official greetings were done, Arc Flame turned towards Override and Stormsplitter, who both bowed to her. 

“The Council also greets and would like to thank you two, the original pioneers of peace who rose up during the war,” Arc Flame said. “May you find Solus Prime's devotion and affection from your bond in the future as you have in the past.”

“We are honored,” Override said for both of them. 

Arc Flame spared them a smile before turning back to Optimus and Megatron. “Shall we step into the Park, then?”

Megatron internally scoffed; like they had a choice on the matter. He wasn't sure but he thought he felt Optimus' EM field prickling with similar displeased feeling by his side, but he didn't dare to make assumptions. 

A lot of effort had been put into the Memorial Park, but it was definitely a picture of Iaconian respect, and maybe also along the traditions of Crystal City, more than anything else. There were pretty rocks and neat rows of shiny crystals, art here and colour there, everything in order and so shiny and fragile. A thought of carving a designation of a bot who had dwelled in Kaon, Tarn or Blaster City and hanging their bell here made him feel sick in his tank. Megatron could feel a processor ache approaching. 

To his relief the crowd wasn't allowed to enter the Park while the high class party was there, and the high walls carved almost full of names kept the noise out surprisingly well. 

They walked to the very core of the Park where a big white statue of Primus was erected, and they stopped. Everyone was respectfully quiet, and Stormsplitter and Override stepped forth together. The pair walked together to the statue, knelt down and extended their servos in prayer. 

Megatron rolled his optics to himself. This farce was the closest in a long time he had felt to the feeling of entering the old gladiatorial arena, and the memory awoke mixed feelings in him. On one hand, he was an individual, a completely unique being with a spark of his own. The feeling thrummed inside of him and the old connotations of being in a show like this made a few of his battle protocols hum online in case he would have to defend his life. But on the other hand, he felt exposed and vulnerable, reduced into a meaningless plaything by every single bot who watched, thirsted for his reaction, for his display, for his suffering, and the audience now was larger than in any pit ever had had.

Actinide strutted forth with a small silver tray in her servos. She wasn't quite the size of a minicon, but taking in consideration the significant size difference between her and Optimus and Megatron, it would have made little difference if she had been. 

“A bell and a carver for each of you,” she said in a quiet, gentle voice, lifting the tray above her helm as far as she could.

Optimus bent down to take both of the bells and thanked Actinide in a voice that had his soft, warm smile written all over it.

When the Prime straightened up again, he held out his left servo and gave the other bell and the carver to Megatron. “Here you go.”

Megatron nodded. The bell and the empty slate in a string were very small on his servo. He took the carver but didn't know what to write on the small silvery slate. He glanced at his side and saw that neither did Optimus. 

It was as if the Prime had felt the glance, because on the next klik the blue optics looked back. 

“You need to write someone's name on that, but pick carefully. You might need to explain your reasoning,” Optimus said quietly as if he didn't want anyone else hearing them.

Megatron frowned at him. “I am Kaonian. This is no place to respect the fallen I appreciate!” he hissed back, equally quiet.

Optimus' intake pressed into a tight line. “You must write something on it.”

“Who're you putting there, then?”

Optimus glanced down at his servos. “I do not know.”

Megatron thought of the fallen soldiers he had known. He couldn't pick just one gladiator comrade, especially since the closest one of them all was still functioning and smuggling him useful information, and several of his officers were still around as well. He hadn't had many friends, and even though Starscream would have fitted in a place like this and had been close to him, the slagger was still online and kicking, and Optimus was right: Someone might ask them who they had chosen to honor here, and Megatron had a feeling no one would appreciate his morbid joke – Optimus in the least. 

He glanced at the Prime and saw that Optimus was already carving something. Optimus made Megatron think of Earth and their long time there. What a dismal time it had been, but the last few stellar cycles had been interesting as well. Megatron didn't believe in fate or recognize all-powerful higher forces in the works the universe, but the relationship between Cybertron and Earth was a curious one.

And suddenly he knew whose name he would carve in the slate.

When Megatron and Optimus had their prayer bells ready, the council members gave them room, and Override and Stormsplitter rose from the ground and stepped aside as well.

Optimus kept very close to Megatron as they approached a shiny rack that was already heavy with prayer bells of others before them, jingling in the light breeze.

“Whose designation did you carve there?” Optimus asked.

Megatron reached for the highest bar of the rack to hang the bell. “Skyquake. The first one of mine to arrive on Earth, the final station of our exodus.” 

Optimus didn't say anything, just watched him hang the bell before putting up the one in his servos.

“I chose to honor my fallen teammate, Cliffjumper. He was one of those who followed me across the galaxy to an unknown world, and the only one who didn't return home with me,” Optimus whispered under his breath as he gently tied the string of the bell on a bar. 

Together they extended their servos and turned their palms downwards to summon the light of Primus and remained like that for a good moment. 

Megatron didn't have a habit of praying and he didn't do it now. He felt like an automaton, winded up to do a trick.

When the formalities were done their party started to walk towards the gates of the Park. The council members first, Override and Stormsplitter second, and Megatron and Optimus surrounded by their guards last. 

At the gates the until now missing press was present. Megatron hadn't ever seen that many journalists relying on homemade camera equipment and simple helm modifications. Out of old habit Megatron raised his helm high and stared above the crowd, never even glancing towards a camera lens, and their guards took care of no one getting close enough to ask actual questions. 

People fluttered around the council members as well as Override and Stormsplitter, all of whom reached to shake servos with as many as possible even though the security officers around made a considerable effort to keep the street clear. 

Arc Flame acted like an old hand at the art of public appearance, waving gracefully to each direction equally, completely dwarfing the rest of the party, even her fellow council members. 

One bot broke through the line of the security officers by waving a badge of some kind, then rushed straight to Nova. Nova bowed down towards the bot who spoke directly to his audio receptor with a strained expression.

Nova's red helm jerked up when the bot had finished. He kept his strict posture even as he turned to look at the bot who had apparently brought some sort of news, then hurried his steps to reach Arc Flame. 

From his position in the back Megatron could only see their backs, but obviously the exchange of words was brief but very meaningful. Arc Flame stopped the waving and reached for her audio piece instead, and once that message had gone through the effect was instant.

One of the security guards escorting Megatron and Optimus suddenly turned and broke the formation and walked up to them. “My apologies, Primal Bond, but we will cut the tour a bit short today. You will now be escorted back to your home,” he said.

“Why?” Optimus asked, but the guard had already turned and was briefing the others to clear another street so they could cut through the crowd back to their home street. 

Optimus glanced at Megatron, who looked back. They both knew something was up, but they couldn't discuss it freely here nor was anyone telling them anything.

The crowd around them seemed to be unaware of whatever development that had come up, still cheering and enjoying themselves, and in the front Arc Flame put her act back together even though Actinide and Nova on both sides of her seemed tense. 

The street was hastily cleared and Optimus and Megatron were guided to break from the rest of the party. The mood of the crowd shifted when the Primal Bond took a different route from the rest, a clear sign that this was not part of the plan but a recent change. Stormsplitter spun around before them and made steady optic-contact with Megatron before their ways parted, and Megatron could see his former general knew something that she couldn't say.

Megatron hated the uncertainty and how he had no choice but to go along with the plan of others. Optimus bristled with the same restlessness by his side, and somehow the distress he was projecting fed into Megatron's irritation. 

The guards took them all the way up to their front door and one of them opened it like a prison cell's gate. Megatron bared his dentae at the guard while Optimus stepped in, and the door slammed shut behind them, the lock clicking. 

The klik they were alone Optimus spun around in the narrow hallway and stared up to Megatron with blazing optics. “What did you do now?!”

Megatron was dumbstruck at the direct accusation, so judgmental and so unlike Optimus, but in a dark sense he was glad about it: Now he had a valid target.

“What have _I_ done? I don't recall confessing to anything, Prime!” he snapped.

“You said that thing while we walked towards the Memorial, and now something has happened! Something terrible enough to make the Council to cut their perfect display of us short! It's just like you to taunt me like that _just_ before you execute one of your brilliant ideas!” Optimus said back, dentae gritting and a deep frown of anxiety on his faceplate.

“You don't know me!” Megatron snarled back. 

Optimus let out a heavy, exasperated sigh and strode to the living room. Megatron followed.

Optimus rubbed the side of his helm with his servo and glared. “Because you're not giving me a chance to get to know you! You lied to me from the very beginning, and even now you don't tell me anything, ever!”

Megatron barked a joyless, harsh laugh. “The Council strings us along in a leash and _that_ is what you worry about?! _That_ is what you choose to concern yourself with?! If you could take one moment to look at the real world, you _might_ see we have bigger things to worry about!” he yelled back.

Optimus threw his servos in the air. “And there we go again! You think I am some naive little thing! You _assume_ and act like I'm the one who doesn't know anything!”

“Well you clearly don't, since you accuse me without any sort of hard evidence!” Megatron snarled back.

Optimus narrowed his optics and examined him carefully. “So whatever has happened isn't your doing? Do you swear?”

Megatron scoffed and rolled his optics. “No, it's not. And yes, I swear, if that's so slagging important to you!”

Optimus looked away. He put his servos on his hipplates and shifted on his pedes like he wanted to pace but tried to put up a level front. Megatron hated that, hated the restrain and forced calmness and the impossible-to-read expression. If Optimus would on top of that put his battlemask on, Megatron was sure he would lose all control and let his rage loose.

But instead of waiting for that to happen he said: “I am not about to let them make a puppet out of me, you know. Whatever stirred up the display today, I'm glad it did, even though it's not by my own servo. I hate them. I hate them, and I hate this.”

Optimus sighed again, this time sounding more tired than anything. His large shoulders slumped and he lolled his helm from side to side, stretching. “I know, and I agree, to a certain degree. I resent this situation just like you do.”

Megatron scoffed in disbelief. “It's your side this play of propaganda advances. And that's what this is, propaganda, all of this peace this and coexistence that, making the past like it never happened.”

Optimus looked at him again, but this time his optics weren't blazing but looked almost like mirror glass tinted blue. “And it's still dishonest, and it insults our existence and rights as individuals,” he said. “They can call us technically terminated, but saying something doesn't make it true. We are still living creatures, and they disrespect that because they couldn't execute us and deal with the consequences. I am not going to condone this just because the cause is noble. And if we want out of this, we must work together.”

“There's nothing in this world I would like less than working together with you,” Megatron grunted. His spark was pulsing and pounding in his chassis, an old desire to fight and conquer heeding it. “That's just what the Council wants! For us to give up and submit!”

“And what do you want then, exactly?!” Optimus demanded. “We know we can work together and defeat enemies greater than the two of us! We defeated Unicron, for Allspark's sake! If you wanted to work with me and didn't because of what the Council thinks, you would still just let them control you!”

That was a point Megatron hadn't considered, and he wasn't entirely sure why. It was a very obvious one and a thing he had thought of in the past, just not in this context. The constant hammering of his spark was making it hard to think straight. He had really thought he could take some of the anger and frustration out on Optimus, but the Prime had once again toned his emotions down too fast.

His silence made Optimus tilt his helm and step closer. He apparently interpreted it to mean that the argument was over, so he circled the low table and the couch and closed the distance he had put between them when he had still been upset.

“Please...” Optimus whispered. 

Megatron's spark throbbed harder, and he couldn't turn his gaze away from his optics even if he wanted to.

Optimus walked right before him and inspected Megatron's face like he was looking for something. “Can we just... talk? Just a little bit?” he pleaded. 

Megatron swallowed. His spark was working on overdrive, making him feel hot and tingly allover. He couldn't speak, wouldn't even have known what to say, and Optimus just continued to look at him in silence, his optics wide open and almost hopeful. He was close, offering peace and a whole new world with it. He was close, optics searching – 

Megatron's commline buzzed and he twitched, breaking the optic contact. The line had been dead for a long time, and someone trying to reach him through it caught him off guard. He looked back at Optimus who currently tried to shield his disappointment, and Megatron opened his commline and let it do the explaining.

“Yes? Who is this?” Megatron asked, a digit pressing needlessly against the side of his helm. Optimus' helm perked up when he understood the situation.

The voice from the other end rattled like it was struggling to pierce thick interference, but Megatron still recognized Stormsplitter:

“Lord Mega...! Thi... ...s …splitter! Do y... re...d me?!”

“Yes. Yes, I read you,” Megatron replied, pronouncing the words overtly clearly.

“Si...! Tod...y's incide...! It'... abo... Coun...l! Th...re h...s be...n a... - - !”

“Repeat! I didn't get that, repeat,” Megatron spoke in return, turning back to Optimus who was expecting the news at perfect attention, a deep frown on his faceplate.

Finally Stormsplitter's rattling message pushed through, and as soon as Megatron confirmed he had heard it, the line cut.

“What? Did she know what happened?” Optimus asked as soon as Megatron's servo lowered from the side of his helm.

“Yes. Council member Starlight has been murdered.”


	22. The battle plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finally here, this new monster of a chapter! I hope you didn't give up on me yet, because here it is, for your enjoyment! Thank you for waiting, dear readers.  
> This one is a plot heavy chapter where I wrote a lot of different points of view and built up some stuff, so I hope the content makes up for the time.  
> Shout out to my beta reader Zinteyro for working on this on his Easter break! 
> 
> Bring on the politics and personal drama!
> 
> (In case you wonder what I have been doing, it's a combination of university keeping me busy, job hunting, general health issues, and a new video game. I'm happy to be back on Cybertron.)

Optimus and Megatron were having their morning fuel in quiet for once. They stood before the kitchen counter, energon cubes in servo and read the news on a shared datapad, both dead serious.

The death of council member Starlight was all over every single news outlet, and currently they read the coverage of the tragic turn of the First Day of Peace, a name that was suddenly painfully ironic. 

The front page read “THE DAY OF PEACE RUINED BY COUNCIL MEMBER'S TRAGIC DEATH!” with grand letters and below that “The council member Starlight found dead in her home”.

The title was so big the rest of the page could only fit the very basic information about the time of her death and that the death was being inspected as a murder. The story continued on in a total of six pages and would have probably went on if the press had had any more information.

They were browsing through the page that listed the happenings of the past solar cycle and how Starlight's death fitted in there, and at least half of the page was filled with pictures of the Peace Day party with one close-up of Override and Stormsplitter, when Optimus finally said something.

“You know, I was thinking about what you said yesterday about the terrorist attack -”

“And I _told you_ I know nothing- “ Megatron cut him off with his objection, but Optimus pressed on.  
“I know! And I believe you, but you were still right. Yesterday with its significance and rituals indeed was a perfect day for a terrorist attack. What else could this be?”

Megatron leaned his other servo against the counter and turned to fully look at Optimus. “I was thinking the same, actually,” he slowly said, optics narrowed. “But this is just a murder of one bot. Not much terror there.”

Optimus turned to him as well, leaning his hipplate against the counter. “Isn't there, though? A murder of a council member who is openly a follower of the Light of Solus?”

Megatron shrugged. “I would have taken out the chairman. If you can, go for the leader. There's terror for you.” 

Optimus hummed thoughtfully. “That is a very good point.”

“I have experience,” Megatron remarked with a crooked grin. Optimus huffed. 

“But then why Starlight? Why choose her?” Optimus thought out loud. 

Megatron shrugged. “A victim of opportunity, perhaps?”

Optimus didn't look convinced. “Well... If a murder of any council member would do for the perpetrator, then maybe... But a council member is hardly an easy target. They all have heavy security and they spend a lot of time in the Hall of High Powers, and that is not a place that's easily penetrated. I don't think there are many opportunities, especially if your strike has a set date.”

“Then what is so special about Starlight,” Megatron said. “She was the fragile looking mirror jet of Crystal City. Not much of anything drastic on her resume.”

“Unless you count her so called Decepticon leanings. Maybe obligated by her faith she and Actinide tended to band together when debating matters,” Optimus noted.

Megatron spread his arms. “Then why not take out Actinide? She is the only former Decepticon sitting in the Council! Why settle for her reluctant supporter? No, it's got to be something purely about Starlight.”

Optimus sipped his energon and considered the point, finally settling for a conclusion that there was something they didn't know yet. He turned back on the datapad and flicked to the next page of the story of Starlight's untimely death. By the pages five and six the press had really ran out of new material, and the pages were dedicated in memorial of Starlight. In the middle of the spread was a beautiful oval-shaped portrait of her, sitting down with her servos in her lap, pearly white wings spread wide but in a modest angle, the decorative glass and mirror plates of her shoulder guards and helm shining brightly. Around the portrait were collected the phases of her existence and her several accomplishments as the follower of the Light of Solus, during the war as a neutral and aboard the Red Star as a diplomat and a counselor who had primarily solved problems between the factions. 

“She rooted for peaceful coexistence from the beginning, I see,” Optimus said. “She was a key member in the founding of the Colony of the Red Star, and was in an important position when negotiating the terms of work and energon rationing between Autobots and Decepticons. I can see why she was voted in the Council even though she hails a religion from Crystal City.”

Megatron had only one optic on the memorial pages and didn't read them too carefully, but he was still thinking about the case. His cube had been empty for a long time since he downed all his fuel almost immediately after it was placed in his servos, and now he turned it over and over between his digits. “Do you think this could be a matter of faith, then?”

“I can't deny it straight away, but... Somehow I find that hard to believe,” Optimus said. “The Light of Solus is no threat to Primusians, to any school of Primusians. Besides most incidents that have happened during the past stellar cycle have been between Autobots and Decepticons. That's the main conflict among our people, not matters of faith.”

“Kaon and Blaster City might have been bombed to the ground but the spirit still lives on,” Megatron said, a shred of pride in his voice. “I wonder how she was murdered, though. Certainly not by explosives which I find curious.”

“Yes, explosions would have more effect. But maybe the perpetrator needed to leave fast and not get caught? Not even in pieces,” Optimus suggested.

Megatron nodded. “Makes sense. I wonder if they will move up to explosives.”

“I certainly hope not,” Optimus said, grim and serious. “Even though it would make sense, yes. I think the bots who _don't_ know how to build a bomb are a minority nowadays.”

“And black market is booming. Good luck keeping track of anything,” Megatron added.

They were quiet again, both sorting out this new information and trying to sum it up to give them something new. Starlight's information certainly was not much to go by, it was all just good deeds, negotiations and religious services. Though Optimus knew how many enemies one could make with just good deeds, he found it hard to believe this was everything there was to the case.

“Anything useful there?” Megatron asked after a moment.

“Not really. Many curiosities, though. She seemed to lead an almost perfect life. She was a very popular priest for bonding ceremonies, it seems. 'Many happy couples express their grief and gratitude to the graceful and truly caring Starlight, among them the first bonded pair aboard the Red Star, General Stormsplitter of Kaon and Captain Override of Crystal City'.” 

“She wedded one of my generals to an Autobot. Huh. I hate her a bit more now,” Megatron said with a cold chuckle. 

Optimus gave him a softly scolding look. “Have some respect, will you? And put that cube in the sink if you're done with it.”

Megatron pointedly put the cube down next to the sink and turned to lean his back on the counter, crossing his arms. “No one ever speaks ill of the offlined. In this case that's counterproductive. It might take centuries before the rust starts to float,” he said. 

“That's called respect, the concept I was talking about,” Optimus remarked.

Megatron scoffed. “Respect the ones still online if you must. All this circus of formalities is going to just make this thing more convoluted and possibly endanger people. You care about that, don't you?” It sounded almost like a dare. 

Optimus took the last mouthful of energon of his cube, then turned to quickly wash the cube before putting it in the sink. “I do care. That's no news, at least it shouldn't – “ He was going to keep talking, but the datapad pinged and informed him of a new message. He opened the folder and then the unread message. He read quickly while Megatron waited. 

When Optimus lifted his helm and opened his intake, he didn't have the time to say anything before Megatron dryly asked: “We have work to do, don't we?”

Optimus looked slightly apologetic. “Well.. Yes. Yes, we do. And we're about to have house guests in a klikcycle.”

“Spill it. What they want now?” Megatron demanded. If he hadn't been in a bad mood before, he was rapidly getting there.

“The council has requested -”

“Ordered.” 

“The council wants us to give a statement. To calm the public, this says,” Optimus said and lifted the datapad for emphasis. 

Megatron lifted his optic ridge in a suspicious frown. “That's it? Just a speech? Live one, I assume?”

“Yes, just a speech. And... Arc Flame wishes we would write it ourselves so it's genuine.”

“Does she now?” Megatron chuckled, showing a side of dentae. “I don't do calming. And how are we even supposed to say anything about a bot we met _once_ and whose life work took place on a distant colony world?!”

Optimus sighed. “I do not know. I suppose that's why Override and Stormsplitter will come by soon, to tell us more details.”

“Right, that will be useful,” Megatron grunted.

“Megatron... Please don't do anything rash,” Optimus gently said. “Don't jump helm first into this mess. We don't have much information yet, and just charging in would be ill-advised.” 

Megatron glared at him. “Do you think I'm stupid?! What exactly would I charge at in this current situation?!” 

Optimus offlined his optics briefly, then tried again. “No, I don't think you're stupid. Quite the opposite actually, but the truth is you have always been quick to act. Right now is not the time for that. This is a field for a new kind of battle, and we're in this together, so would you please observe with me for a little longer and not abandon me in this?”

“And when have _I_ abandoned _you_?” Megatron challenged, arms still crossed and glaring down at the other mech. 

Something seemed to snap, and Optimus glared back at him. “How about few weeks ago when we were before the Council?! You had a fit and then barged out, leaving me behind to sort it out!”

Megatron looked away. The gesture resembled if not regret then at least self-awareness enough that Optimus felt his annoyance melt away. 

“Look, this is a new fight. It can't be won with swords or bravado. There are different rules here, and if we want to win, we need to play by those rules,” he explained, desperately wishing he was getting through to the other mech.

Megatron was clearly listening, but some parts had gotten to him more than others. He lifted his gaze back to Optimus and raised an optic ridge. “It's 'we' now?”

Optimus shrugged and told his spark to stop making such a fuss about the wording. Having an ally had tactical merit, and tactical merit only. “We do share the position in this struggle, and I have tried to tell you before that we must work together to get through this.”

“So that we can go our separate ways again, and then what?” Megatron said, a challenge dominant in his tone.

“We'll see about that if we ever get to that point. I don't know what the future holds, but I won't see the old system return here, that I swear.”

Megatron chuckled with a little grin dawning on his features. “You swear, now do you? That's valiant of a Prime who agreed to fight in favor of the old system!”

Optimus barely restrained himself from sighing in exasperation. “I didn't agree to defend them, I wanted the change just as much as you. The difference between you and I was that I didn't claim a right to execute the opposing side!”

“And how well that policy worked out!” Megatron replied.

“And whose fault is that?” Optimus bit back. “The war happened. It did, and there's nothing that can change that. I will not see the fallen soldiers of either side be disrespected by the return of the very system and policy that sparked the war in the first place.”

Megatron's grin calmed into an expression that was almost a smile. He regarded the Prime before him in a calculating manner, his optics piercing and chin held high. 

“I think we can work something out. For now,” he finally said. 

The door buzz went off and made both of them jump a little. The tension snapped and evaporated, and Optimus threw one last look at Megatron before going to the door. 

Override and Stormsplitter both looked grim. Optimus invited them in without any formal greetings and led them to the living room. Override was carrying a metal briefcase with her and held on to the handle with both servos.

“Ah, the house guests,” Megatron greeted as the pair entered the living room. He stood in the kitchen doorway, a couple of steps from where Optimus had left him and his gaze was drawn to the briefcase in Override's servos. 

“I thought we were having an actual meeting,” Megatron said.

“We are,” Override said. “May I use the table?” 

Optimus nodded, and she went ahead and set the case down on the couch, opened it and started to spread equipment on the low table. There was a network of lamps, a transportable power source, a small projector and a tiny transportable computer unit with a small keyboard attached to it. Even though the equipment was rather compact in general, it had taken over the small table entirely by the time Override was done setting it up.

She stood up, rubbed her servos nervously together and bounced her gaze between Optimus and Megatron. Stormsplitter stayed close to her, but kept the couch between them.  
“Well... As you both undoubtedly already know, council member Starlight was found murdered last night,” Override began. Her servos were clearly restless, but her voice was professional and steely. “It has caused somewhat of a public outrage, and some rather problematic areas of the planet have become that much tenser just overnight.”

“Is it terrorism?” Megatron asked straight out. 

Optimus glanced at him from the corner of his optic which he ignored.

“It's too early to draw any such conclusions,” Override replied.

“It probably is, yeah,” Stormsplitter added. Override offlined her optics for a brief moment but didn't make a comment to her bondmate. 

“So, a terrorist attack. And what do you want us to do about that?” Megatron asked. “It's not like I have a good reputation in these things.”

“The Council would like you to offer the public some comfort and courage,” Override said. “Tell people to remain calm and not point any digits at each other. Tell them the situation is under control and that there's nothing to be afraid of.”

“You assume I have any control over these people,” Megatron retorted. “Even if I knew who these terrorists are, don't you think forcing me to take part in this circus would only provoke them further if they really think they are continuing the true Decepticon will and work? Also, what good is Optimus going to do? Or...” Megatron seemed to get an idea, and his optics gleamed. “Do you suspect that this might be work of the Autobots?”

Override looked at Megatron with a carefully neutral expression and refused to say anything. Optimus tried to keep an optic on all three bots in the living room at the same time, Megatron tried to pressure Override by staring, and Stormsplitter was just looking at her bondmate. Tension grew.

“I already stated that it is too early to draw any conclusions,” Override finally said, her voice keeping its professional tone, a show of impressive restraint. “Our, and that includes you as well, main concern is keeping the population calm. We cannot allow fear to take over.”

“We will do our part,” Optimus said. “But only for the sake of public order. I would not make any note of politics on this beyond recognizing the nature of the attack and condemning it, but focus on speaking to those who are uncertain, afraid or angry. Megatron is correct: Neither one of us has direct control over whoever is guilty of this.”

“I'm glad someone is thinking productively,” Override said. “Now, let's begin the briefing in whole, shall we? Council members Arc Flame, Actinide and Ratbat would like to speak with you.”

“Aren't we popular,” Megatron muttered while stepping away from the doorway and closer to the holoprojector. Optimus, who was standing next to him, heard but didn't make a comment.

They arranged themselves in front of the projector so that Override and Stormsplitter, who were both smaller bots than Optimus and Megatron, sat down on the couch before the projector and Optimus and Megatron stood behind it. When all was set, Override leaned forward to choose the right contact information on the computer unit, and then they waited.

The lights lit up first and brightened to their full capacity and the projector hummed before the other end picked up. When he connection was finally made, the projector flashed on and together with the light network projected the pictures of council members Actinide, Arc Flame and Ratbat, making it look like they were sitting by the table as well. 

No one smiled and no one uttered a greeting. Arc Flame cut straight to the point: “You two will not be making a public appearance today. You will write your speeches or messages only, and Captain Override and General Stormsplitter will record them, deliver them to the nearest broadcast station and they will take care of it.”

“Override has already informed us what the content should be. Is there anything else?” Optimus asked.

“Remember to stay as neutral as possible without being vague,” Actinide said. It was bizarre to see her small helm projected to the same level as Arc Flame's and Ratbat's. “The possibility of a religious motive has not been eliminated in the investigation, so don't take anyone's side.”

“There's no fear of that,” Megatron grunted, ever the atheist. 

“You should show a little less attitude, Megatron,” Ratbat pointed out. He seemed to be the least grim of them all, no doubt enjoying each opportunity to order them around to its full potential no matter the circumstances. “The Council would like to remind you that you are the number one terrorist here.”

“Oh how flattering, you still remember my accomplishments,” Megatron sarcastically remarked, but twitched when he felt a light brush of Optimus' servo against the side of his own. The new rules, he recalled then, and restrained his urge to smirk. 

“You can't make an assumption that this act and the Decepticon riots and attacks before the war are somehow connected,” Optimus argued. 

“And why is that?” Ratbat sourly demanded.

“Because neither one of us currently exercises any direct control over anyone. The only likely connection to us is that this might be a protest against our sentence. I read that Starlight consulted the Judges on their final decision, so your act of mercy might not resonate as such with all,” Optimus said, as serene as ever but with a cutting edge in his voice. His servo was still against Megatron's on the back of the couch. 

“How dare you accuse the Council and the Court of Law of this!” Ratbat snapped. “Your punishment is just! It was you two who started this entire commotion! We wouldn't be having a problem like this if you hadn't started it, no matter how many millions of stellar cycles ago!”

Megatron felt a sharp surging of fury rise from his core and a taste of boiling energon rising in the back of his intake. Ratbat might have been just one mech, a relatively simple and meaningless one, but from time to time it was like he would take his bot mask down and show that behind it lived the embodiment of all that was ugly and cruel and wrong in the world, and it spoke with a voice that had justified every unjust thing inflicted upon the low castes. Optimus' servo didn't feel condescending anymore, but like a fixed point with its own gravitational pull, and Megatron centered his whole being and self-control around that. 

“That is irrelevant,” Optimus' calm voice spoke up. “It is a real possibility, and we don't know the bots who might think this way. Scolding us is useless.”

“You seem like you have something on your mind,” Arc Flame said. Her optics were fixed upon Optimus, narrow and calculating. Even through a greenish holoimage she looked tense and exhausted. 

“I suggest that as a precaution you lift the house arrest,” Optimus said. 

Arc Flame's optic ridges flew up to the rim of her helm casing. “That is a bold request, Optimus Prime.”

“May I counter that, Chairman?” Actinide piped up. 

“Be my guest, council member Actinide,” Arc Flame said.

“We won't lift the house arrest just yet, but we could promise to do that in the future. Let's present it as another act of mercy. It will make good news after their speeches have been broadcast. But right now we could loosen the visitor policy. I say let them have their officers visit, if only for a cycle a solar cycle and maximum three at the time.”

There was a moment of silence, then Arc Flame excused them and disengaged the microphone so the council members could negotiate in peace. It was a brief yet heated argument, if their expression were anything to go by, and when the sound reconnected again, the decision was final.

“Council member Actinide's suggestion is hereby approved. You may invite your approved visitors to meet you, but they all must still meet the minimum limit of their sentences, and your apartment is still off the bounds until further notice. Now write and record the speeches. The broadcast is in four cycles, and Captain Override has to have delivered the recordings by then.”

The feed cut. Megatron scoffed to himself, and was surprised to find a matching sour expression on Optimus' faceplate. They exchanged a heavy look full of conflicting emotions, both knowing they had to submit to the Council's will but neither being too happy about it.

“For the sake of the people,” Optimus said.

Megatron nodded.

When they broke their optic contact their personal bubble burst, and they returned to their living room and in the company of Override and Stormsplitter, who both studied them with curious looks. 

“I have news of Kaon,” Stormsplitter said then, meaning her words to Megatron. Her helm jerked in a short bow when Megatron met her gaze, a gesture more like a conditioned response than a conscious choice. “You don't know everything, Lord Megatron, because you are kept here in Iacon, but Kaon and what remains of Blaster City and Tarn are not as prosperous as the capital is. I returned a while ago from my mission to rebuild and reestablish our once so glorious city, the forging place of our uprising, and many who lived there before the war have returned as well. It's been slow. Most of the professional help – the engineers and architects – are in the cities with a wealthier past. The best the workers of my level can do is basic electric work and fixing sewers.”

“The old differences with education levels are still very much present,” Override said. “The re-establishment of universities and other schools is in progress, but... The truth is that there are not many highly educated bots left. So much knowledge and expertise has been lost to us...”

Stormsplitter looked as grim as her conjunx, but she cut back to her original point: “People are unhappy, my Lord. We are bitter. Iacon might be doing well, but back in Kaon we don't want Autobots in our field of vision. People are restless, and you are lucky that you are kept here as a prisoner: That's the only thing keeping your image good in the optics of your old followers.”

Megatron listened to her in silence, his expression steely and unreadable. After Stormsplitter was done, the silence continued and Megatron considered the new information. 

“I need to visit Kaon as soon as possible,” he said. “But since that is not currently possible, I need to speak to them like I used to.”

Override frowned, worry written clear on her faceplate, but Optimus nodded.

“That is a good call. I think we should start our separate speeches by addressing the people we can reach and then continue towards the same goal,” Optimus suggested, and Megatron nodded.

“The message being remain in order and don't lynch anyone,” Megatron said with a dry chuckle, and Optimus nodded. 

“Also I think we should concentrate on being less political than the Council. Our trump card is that we are part of the people. Many of them followed us into battle mere stellar cycles ago, and that is what we must remember. Let the Council be the neutral, watered-down voice of justice and institution, we'll be what we truly are,” Optimus continued.

Megatron grinned. He liked what he was hearing. It resembled greatly his original plan of going about the change as well as what he was already thinking now, and hearing Optimus had been thinking along the same lines filled him with warmth and determination, like someone he valued had just approved and validated his thinking. “We are approaching a dangerous line, Optimus,” Megatron said. “It's true we could use our power to truly affect people's minds and emotions, but we might nudge them into chaos as well. After all, if someone has already made up their mind they will find validation anywhere they want.”

“And that is a thing we can do nothing about,” Optimus countered. “Someone has already given themselves a right to murder, so we are late for that. But yes, we must not encourage anyone too much, after all both Autobots and Decepticons are capable of terrible things. What I meant was let's reach our people with our shared past, then remind them of the things they believe in and the responsibility to stay calm. In such a short time after the war we have gained so much, and none of us wants to lose that.”

“Clearly someone does,” Megatron noted with a grim scoff, nodding towards the kitchen where they had read the news. 

Optimus didn't argue back, but turned to Override. “Captain, we will need a moment of peace to work on our speeches. Would you and your conjunx like some oil while you wait?”

*

The doorbell of Ratchet's apartment rang, and almost immediately the door was opened by the owner himself. Arcee, Bumblebee and Smokescreen were all a bit taken aback by the efficiency. 

“Uh... Hello,” Arcee said.

Ratchet eyed them all like they were all patients who had deliberately caused their own injuries to ruin his day, and stepped aside. “Come in, come in. Ultra Magnus and Bulkhead are already here. The broadcast is about to start,” he said.

“We came as quickly as we could,” Arcee said when she stepped inside, Smokescreen right at her heel and Bumblebee closing the door behind them.

“Yes, yes, I'm sure of it,” Ratchet said, waving his servo. “We all did. This is... very sudden. Come, we're in the living room.”

Ratchet disappeared from the hallway and around the corner, and when he wasn't in sight anymore, Smokescreen leaned down closer to Arcee and mumbled: “Doc sure is stressed and grumpy, isn't he?”

“Don't you know Ratchet well enough to expect that already?” Arcee chuckled.

“I can still hear you, you brats! It's not that big of an apartment!” Ratchet yelled from the living room, making Smokescreen jump. 

Arcee flashed a meaningful smile up at the young mech, and Bumblebee beeped something along the same lines but more sympathetic. He had apparently made the same mistake for a number of times. 

Ratchet's living room was low in luxuries and full of boxes, most of them labeled “med.” His computer console was modest, it had only two processing units and one screen, but miraculously there was a seat for every one. Bulkhead and Ultra Magnus were having a serious conversation in low voices when Arcee and the younger mechs stepped in, and it came to halt on the very moment.

“Ah, good day,” Ultra Magnus greeted them. “You are just in time.”

“Uh... Hi, everyone,” Bulkhead said while waving, noticeably awkward about whatever they had been talking about, but not even Smokescreen pointed it out. 

Ratchet herded them to sit down on either one of the armchairs or sitting pillows on the floor before he hurried to the computer and turned up the volume. The station was already set to the frequency in which the speeches from the Prime and the Primal Spouse were to be broadcasted, as per the official announcement. Smokescreen and Bumblebee pushed two of the pillows closer together so they could share the space, and even though they were already done Ratchet hushed them: The announcer over the radio formally presented that the live speeches were now beginning. 

A silence fell into Ratchet's small, neat living room, and silence rattled over the radio transmitter. After several tense kliks, a voice that was distinctively Optimus' filled the room.

“Honorable people of Cybertron, I greet you. This is Optimus Prime, at your service and speaking to you in this grim moment.”

There was a pause to let the words sink in. The speakers transmitted the tiniest amount of background noise.

“This is a time for mourning one of our own, one of our leaders. Our elected council member Starlight has been taken from us with a terrible act of violence, an attack that was directed not only against Starlight of Crystal City, but also against everything we have built after the long war came to an end. The sitting Council of Cybertron condemns this murder an open act of hostility against Cybertron and its people, and everything will be done to ensure that the culprits will answer for their crimes before unbiased justice.

“As for myself and what I have to say... This is a time for grieving. We have lost a bot who had taken it upon herself to lead us forward, and most recently that bot campaigned for the new era be started with mercy and kindness instead of holding a grudge and cruel punishments. Her kindness was not repaid in kind, but I can only hope that you, the people, will take that kindness and pass it on. Don't dishonor Starlight's memory by pointing digits or by being hateful or disrespectful toward each other. Now is the time to join servos and walk together to the future we make for ourselves, and to make sure we remember and honor all that and those who are now lost to us. A way of prejudice and injustice lies behind us, so let us now together make sure that is not the way ahead of us.

“ I, Optimus of Iacon, was granted the position of a Prime originally to defend my people, and that is what I still plan to do. Right now that protection is best achieved by remembering our past and how we are that much wiser now. Let us stay calm and open-minded, and not let our fear and prejudice take hold, for the sake of Cybertron, for the people, and for the future we will build and choose for ourselves. Let us reject the way of violence that some are trying to force upon us. Power to the people, peace through our united servos.”

The speech ended and everyone was respectfully quiet in Ratchet's living-room, turning the words over in their minds and contemplating their meaning. Ultra Magnus broke the silence: “Optimus still has the way with words.”

Some agreeing mumbling followed.

“I wonder how much Optimus knows, really,” Arcee said. “They are clearly treating the murder of Starlight as an act of terror and Optimus is trying to keep things under control, but how involved he is in the investigation?”

“Not at all, I assume,” Ultra Magnus answered. “In the department of Law and Regulation Restoration I hear things, and this case has definitely been passed on to the law enforcement. I believe they are under the surveillance of the Law and Justice Department, which in turn resides in the Hall of High Power under the Council. A great deal of the personnel is still under training and very inexperienced, though. It will practically be a miracle if this case is ever solved.”

Ratchet harrumphed. “It's a miracle if this calming-down-business does anything! Optimus is still strongly imprinted with his Autobot image, and we all know he won't ever stop believing in that cause. Decepticons are the ones who commit acts of terror, and an Autobot Prime won't get through their thick helms!” 

No one said anything right away, but the way everyone avoided optic contact and looked bleak revealed they were all thinking the same. A simple melody of waiting music was playing on the radio.

Arcee hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose that's why Megatron will speak next. If he still has any power over his troops, he will be putting that in good use.”

Smokescreen frowned at her. “Do you think that'll work?”

Arcee shrugged at him, but to everyone's surprise it was Bulkhead who spoke up: “It just might. When I was visiting Optimus he said they had been talking. Optimus is trying to drill some sense into that thick bucket Megatron calls helm.”

While everyone else looked doubtful, Ratchet outright snorted and shook his helm. “Like that's going to work!”

“If anyone can get through it's Optimus,” Bulkhead argued, a bit defensive. 

“Not to Megatron. No one will ever get through to him,” Ratchet said, crossing his arms. “And it's not that Optimus isn't patient – that mech doesn't have one mean circuit in his frame – but there's nothing that can be done for Megatron. He's far too gone beyond any reasonable methods.”

“You seem pretty certain about that. Do we get to hear the story?” Arcee asked with an arched optic ridge, and Smokescreen and Bumblebee by her leaned forward for emphasis. 

Ratchet eyed his guests with a hesitant frown on his faceplate, considered for a moment and then just grunted dismissively. “What's there to tell, really. You already know Optimus and Megatron used to correspond and they worked together long before the war. Then Megatron betrayed Optimus, and the rest is history. It's just... I knew Optimus back then. I knew what the betrayal did to him, and I know becoming a Prime changed him.”

He looked reluctant to go on, but Smokescreen who was squirming on his place couldn't just accept that like the rest of them seemed to: “Changed him how?”

Ratchet took a deep invent of air and blew it out of his vents just as slowly. His gloominess gained an edge of exhaustion that reminded them of how old he was. “Orion Pax was...” he started and paused. His optics were distant when he dug up memories and wondered where to begin. “He was the kindest bot you were ever going to meet. He was quiet and responsible and I had the pleasure to be one of his few friends. He didn't have many friends, but all of us were very close with him. Orion never fought with anyone, and never got in trouble. He was wise beyond his years like that.”

He paused and smiled to himself. The memory of the time before the war, a simpler time, was apparently pleasant. Other older bots joined in the feeling, but Smokescreen and Bumblebee waited anxiously for the story to continue.

“Then?” Bumblebee beeped. “Change: How?” 

Ratchet seemed to come out of a mild trance. He blinked as he sorted his thoughts out and continued: “I understand that one day he intercepted a message from Kaon. It was the first time he, or anyone outside the lawless region of Kaon, Tarn and Blaster City for that matter, heard of Megatron and his rebellious ideas. And Orion was inspired. He wanted to change the society too, and after that he started to get in trouble.” Ratchet scoffed to himself and shook his helm. “He was lucky that his close friend Jazz was a part of a higher caste and managed to keep the authorities mostly off his back.”

“And then?” Smokescreen asked.

“And then after a few decades the war started, of course,” Ratchet said. “Megatron and his Decepticons had been extremists all along. There had been incidents for a long time, but at the time they were believed to be mostly unrelated. There were murders, vandalism, bombings... All that because Megatron and his followers wanted war and power. And when Orion was appointed Prime, the war broke out open and brutal. Megatron had played the part of a peaceful activist and revealed himself to be nothing but a spiteful, power-hungry terrorist, and then everything went into the Pit.”

Ultra Magnus spoke up. “I recall the last stellar cycles before the war very well, too. I started to associate with Optimus, who then was still called Orion, around those times. He wanted to dismantle the caste system and reform institutions of power in our society. He was very strong-willed bot even then.”

“Maybe so, but the war is over now. He shouldn't have to do that anymore,” Ratchet said, his voice sour. “Optimus has done so much for us all, he has fought for us so long and given his everything. He deserves to be that kind, quiet bot once again!”

No one had an argument against that, and even if someone had had one, none of them would have wanted to argue with Ratchet who was defiantly glaring at them all. 

The waiting music on the radio stopped and the second speech began. Megatron's steely, overly confident tone filled the room as he greeted the listeners: “Brave and loyal people of Cybertron! Megatron of Kaon greets you -” 

Ratchet hit the power button of his computer console and the transmitter turned off. “That blasted warmonger,” he grunted. 

*

Dreadwing's apartment was small and modest. He lived in the poor district outside of Iacon, where streets were narrow and only partially paved, and the buildings were made out of recycled metal and concrete blocks. They were all the same, and the one he lived in looked on the inside like it was just concrete boxes stacked together with narrow corridors connecting them. 

His apartment was small and had only one room. On one wall there was a short counter, a couple of drawers and a cool compartment, and on the opposite one a couple of crates storing his few personal belongings. One third of the apartment's floor was covered with firm padding to make up for the lack of a berth, but that was it. Each floor of the building had a communal wash-rack, so there was no use for a personal one. 

Dreadwing owned a small transportable computer unit, and right now it sat on the top of one of the crates and transmitted Megatron's speech. 

“Megatron of Kaon greets you! I bring this message from my imprisonment to any one of you who is willing to listen to me, to those who are ready to open their minds to a lowly gladiator. Perhaps you worked alongside with me, perhaps you raised yourselves when I did, and perhaps you proved yourselves to those who dared to call you lesser for your function or where you were appointed after your activation. Whoever you are, listen to me now. 

“The murder of the council member Starlight is an attack. It is a hostile gesture towards the future we want and are making for ourselves. It is a disgrace for the countless battles and immeasurable sacrifices we made during the war, and gestures like that one will not be tolerated. You should not tolerate them. 

“Decepticons! We collected the Omega Keys and revived our planet! I, your leader, am imprisoned to pay off the necessary crimes we committed during the war! We are the ones with experience of hard work like mining, building and engineering. We are the ones who will rebuild this world and decide for ourselves what our future will look like! Throwing us a murdered council member in protest of peace and the new era we are building is an insult to us all, an insult so grave they might as well spit on the remains of our fallen comrades.

“So I say to you now: Refuse this path. Reject the provocation. Fight against those who try to set our factions further apart and turn you into bitter and resentful machines. We broke our chains once, and we can do that again. Together we will win our fear and loathing, and gain victory through unity, peace through our might and courage united!”

The speech ended, and the broadcast switched into calm music again. Dreadwing sat quiet and deep in thought. Megatron still certainly had a way with words. People listening to the broadcast in Kaon would certainly celebrate. Even Dreadwing who had turned his back to the cause and his former leader couldn't quite deny the rousing effects of a speech from Megatron, and a part of him scolded himself for listening to it despite his deserter status.

“Why do you listen to that scrap?” asked a voice from a pile of thick covers on the paddings. 

Dreadwing turned the computer off and looked at Wheeljack's sleepy face that had appeared in the middle of the blankets. 

“I don't know. Out of curiosity and misguided loyalty, I suppose,” he answered. 

Wheeljack narrowed his optics at him and lay his helm back down. “He's full of it, you know,” the former Wrecker said.

“Mm,” was all Dreadwing cared to answer. His house-guest hadn't been properly awake in solar cycles, so he didn't give his blabbering much value. He didn't bother Wheeljack with questions like “shouldn't you go to work?” or “when was the last time you took a shower?”, and the flyer thought he ought to have the same respect for privacy back. Which he did, when Wheeljack simply turned to his other side and pulled the covers over his helm.

Dreadwing sat quietly by himself for a moment longer and listened to the steady vents of the recharging mech before coming to a conclusion he could use some sleep before his night shift too. The space on the padding was narrow, but with them both on their sides and backs to each other they managed to recharge without physical contact. 

*

It was almost night time, and the crescents of Cybertron's two moons shone above Iacon that didn't yet have enough lights to obscure the night sky. The streets were busy with people either heading for their odd-cycle jobs or those who had just gotten off them and were looking for a good way to spend the free time. With the limited infrastructure the entertainment and culture scenes were limited as well and mostly focused on the streets, where bots tried to entertain themselves and each other by socializing, gambling and having fuel at struggling little street kitchens. 

One could see the lights and the movement from Optimus and Megatron's apartment, but the noise didn't reach the top floors, let alone pierce the enforced glass. 

The two inhabitants of the classy little prison sat together on their couch, more space between them than was necessary for a casual social interaction. They sat in contemplating silence, and both had a drink in servo. Optimus had a cube of oil, Megatron was drinking his straight out of the can. 

On the small table in the middle of the room and between them lay a datapad, but its screen was dark and had been all evening with no news or messages to report.

“I don't think anything is going to happen today,” Optimus finally said. He passed his cube from one servo to other, the liquid inside sloshing around. 

“Not that anyone would necessarily let us know,” Megatron replied, leaning back on his place and taking a gulp out of the can.

Optimus watched him from the corner of his optics. The day had been a long and surprisingly exhausting one with the possible new threat, both writing and recording the speeches under the pressure of a limited time, and trying to accept there was nothing more either one of them could do to help anyone. 

Accepting his limited capacity had always been the hardest part for Optimus and he felt the true weight of it only now, after dark when he had finally sat down. Running around, keeping busy and trying to squeeze information out of everyone from the security officers to the odd council member or their assistant had all given an excuse to stop thinking about the future, what should be done and who held the power to carry that out, but at the end of the day the thoughts were still there, waiting for you. Optimus took another swig from his cube, hoping he could wash the bad taste down. 

Megatron looked calmer than Optimus felt. He supposed a Decepticon and a former gladiator was used to uncertainty and possibly lethal threats, but Optimus was a soldier too, and he knew a thing or two about desperation and helplessness. Besides, he knew Megatron well enough to know how obsessively he wanted and needed to be in control of all things around him. He was the kind of a mech who wouldn't stop trying and battling until he was on top and rid of all his enemies and opposers. It was a destructive flaw in his persona, but the kind of a flaw Optimus secretly admired. 

He had to admit it was getting almost cozy with Megatron now that they had a common enemy. 

“This is nice,” Optimus carefully said.

Megatron threw him a suspicious look over his can. “Dealing with terrorism is nice to you?”

“No, I didn't mean that,” Optimus said, staring down into his drink. “I meant you and I, working together. We make a good team.” He kept his gaze fixed on the cube in his servos but saw on the edge of his vision Megatron giving him a contemplating look.

“I suppose so,” Megatron admitted, and after a moment of silence even chuckled a bit. “We brought down Unicron.”

“We did. And we couldn't have done it without each other.”

“That is true. Even I admit that. Our temporary alliance had considerable tactical value,” Megatron said. He didn't mention it had been his idea to begin with, though he must have known he didn't have to remind Optimus of that. “I am not sure if writing a couple of speeches which basically tell people to sit their afts down can be compared to that triumph, though.”

Optimus lifted his gaze up from his cube but didn't look at Megatron. Instead he looked towards the back wall and trough the windows. The arc of the night sky was deep and dark, reminding them of the depths of space. City lights couldn't reach to it.  
“No, I suppose not. But I think this new battle plan of ours is working. I'd like to think people listened to at least one of us today, or better yet, maybe even to us both.”

Megatron grunted something, maybe doubtful, maybe just to react in someway. Then he suddenly said: “You really think so? I know that many former Decepticons have abandoned me. Think about it: I lost the war, was imprisoned and then bonded off to _you_ , our greatest enemy. And I am spending my retirement cycles rather cozily here in Iacon.” He sounded bitter and somewhat angry.

“Maybe so,” Optimus carefully admitted, “but your speech was impressive. I couldn't help but notice how much it resembled your earlier work and rhetoric. Maybe the majority recognizes that.”

Megatron barked a short laugh. “You thought I had changed, then?”

Optimus shrugged. “I didn't say that...”

“But that's what you meant, deep down. Don't lie to me, Prime. I can see right through your pristine facade, even if no one else can. Least of all your loyal little subjects who view you nothing short of a saint.”

The bitter, biting tone hurt Optimus more than it had in a long time, and he winced a bit. He had always been at the receiving end of insults Megatron flung across the battlefield, and due to their shared history Megatron's remarks were often on-point. He understood him, and used that knowledge to hurt him. Now Optimus was too tired to steel himself and in addition to that he had to admit he had let his guard down as well, and Megatron's words slipped past his armor and stung. 

“My troops and friends don't just blindly follow me,” Optimus said in his defense. He thought about the direct and on-point criticism and suggestions Ultra Magnus had always made, Wheeljack and his rebellious attitude, and lastly his dear friends Ratchet and Jazz, who had never been afraid of letting him hear what he deserved. He missed them all.

Megatron rolled his optics, drank the last drops of oil from the can in his servo before crushing it between them. “Yeah, right. Maybe your darling medic occasionally told you to shut your trap and stop spouting nonsense, but the others not so much. I am not blind or deaf, I have seen the oh so bright optics of Autobots who practically worship the good and holy Prime! Great and wise Optimus _Prime_ this, kind and fragging perfect Prime that...”

Optimus set his cube down on the table and turned to fully face Megatron. “Is that what this is about? The title of a Prime?” he asked, frowning. 

“A title that was rightfully mine,” Megatron corrected through his dentae, his expression sour and disgusted. 

Optimus didn't understand, had never understood this. “Really? Is that _really_ the core of our personal feud? The High Council didn't offer the chance of claiming the Matrix to you, and you were so slighted by this that you severed your ties to me?” he asked with a frown. 

Megatron's optics blazed. “Of course it is! What else did you think it was about?!”

Optimus spread his arms. “Our movement grew apart! I always assumed you thought I stole and twisted your ideas and your followers, and then fought against you after your side attacked! You hated me the most because I was the only Autobot you had once known!”

Megatron laughed again, a hollow and cruel noise, and stood up. He was tense and clearly furious, his vents flaring and his digits flexing like he was fighting an urge to squeeze them into fists and batter something. Optimus stood up as well, but slower and more careful, trying not to agitate Megatron with his frame language too.

“I can't believe you don't understand!” Megatron almost shouted. His voice bounced off the walls of the room. “All this time and you have thought yourself to be in the right and so pure! Do you have any idea what you put me through?!”

Optimus felt a spark of anger in his chassis. “What I put you through?! I trusted you! I thought we were working together, openly and honestly! But all that time while you spun your grand tales about change and new order and how we would be together you were ordering your followers to plant bombs and commit murder, all behind my back!”

Megatron raised an optic ridge. “Would you have been on board if I had been honest?”

Optimus stared at him for a klik, intake open and an expression of disbelief on his faceplate, until he managed to snap: “No!”

Megatron rolled his optics, huffed in distaste and stomped away from the couch and towards the windows of the back wall. Once there, he stood with his back to Optimus and arms crossed. 

Any other time Optimus might have selected the role of the mature one and walked away, maybe just gone to the study to his padding and recharged, but he was too angry and too curious to do that. The old wound from the day he had been appointed a Prime and Megatron had betrayed him burned like those of yesterday, and before he knew it his pedes were carrying him towards Megatron.

“Don't you walk away from me,” he snapped. “We are settling this now! It has been over a million stellar cycles, countless bots have offlined, our homeworld was destroyed once for good, and now you decide to sulk? I will not have that, do you hear me?!”

Megatron turned his furious gaze to Optimus, who stopped to stand next to him with his servos on his hipplates and an angry glare in his optics. 

“You think you are entitled to demand answers here, Prime?! You... You act like you're so good... So innocent and always so right...”

“Aren't I, then?” Optimus demanded, tired of the vague accusations and remarks. He wanted to get to the bottom of this, once and for all. He wanted the truth.

His remark did the trick. Megatron's red optics flared almost white, his upper lipplate drew back in a snarl and this time he truly yelled: “YOU BETRAYED ME! YOU! IT WAS _YOU_ WHO TURNED YOUR BACK TO _ME_!”

Optimus narrowed his optics, unwavering. “Is that so?”

It was a wonder Megatron's frame didn't release any extra charge, since he seemed to heat up with rage in a manner Optimus had previously seen only in battles. “Yes! You betrayed me! You swallowed the Council's treacherous propaganda and became a tool for them!”

“I did not!” Optimus snapped back with a cold, firm voice like he was barely holding the volume of his own voice down. “I saw an opportunity to lead our people to change without violence, and I took it! Violence is never acceptable! I just didn't want anyone to die!”

Megatron let out a mocking laugh. “Grand words, librarian! And what of the lower castes?! How many of them would have been crushed in the mines while you would have been talking and negotiating the terms of our silence?!”

“The mines could have closed the very next day,” Optimus replied and used the opportunity to make another point: “Do you mean to tell me you would have liberated and healed? You, who at that point were a terrorist making demands? What more would have the title of Prime been to you than an instrument of revenge?!”

“You think only Iaconians are suited for that, don't you?!” Megatron accused him. “So sure your way is the only right one, little naive Orion!”

Optimus groaned with frustration and threw his servos up. “Oh would you stop that! Iaconians this, higher castes that. You hold on to your own misery like a trophy while willfully forgetting that the old system restrained all of us, not just you! I was a simple archivist, just filing and storing data with a small pay.”

Megatron almost spat at that. “You and your neat little job, oh how horrible! How does that compare to -”

“Is everything a competition to you?!” Optimus interrupted with a hint of desperation in his voice. “What even is the prize in this one?!”

Megatron clamped his intake shut and just glared. He was clearly boiling with anger, infuriated and wounded by Optimus' betrayal, but he was shutting it down again, pushing Optimus away and retreating into the safety of his armor again. 

Optimus didn't want that, as he suddenly understood his own panic and desperation the silence between them caused. He wanted to know, wanted to understand in a way he had thought they had when they first met. They had a connection, he had felt it back then in the beginning, and momentarily when they had fought against Unicron and most recently when they had banded together against the Council and especially Ratbat he had felt it again. 

He wanted to untangle this mess between them and clear up that wonderful connection. 

When he spoke again, he softened his voice and asked with pained urgency: “Did it really surprise you that I would take a chance to influence without force? Did it shock you that I chose the non-violent course of action? That was _central_ to everything I ever said! Did you even listen? Did you ever see the real me, or just what you wanted me to be?”

The very thought of that hurt, and it hurt even more when Megatron averted his gaze and his anger died out.  
Optimus had thought they had been something special, a friendship like no other before or since, but now a bitter taste rose into his intake and his ever honest self was forced to consider the possibility it had all been a lie, an illusion. Optimus searched Megatron's face for answers, but found none. 

Megatron looked back into Optimus' optics for a klik, then huffed and asked: “Did _you_ ever see me? Did you know me?” He sounded grim and bitter. 

Optimus opened his mouth and searched for words that refused to come. He was aware how wide open and probably glistening his optics were, and holding Megatron's gaze without blinking didn't make it any better.

Finally, just when Megatron looked like he was about to give up on the answer, Optimus managed to force out: “I wanted to. Ever since we first spoke I wanted to get to know you. The real you.”

Megatron dropped his gaze and took a deep intake of air. He angled his frame back towards the window and straightened his spinal strut. He stared into the night, the dim, scattered lights of the city and the dark sky above. He let out a dark chuckle. “Well... Now you've gotten a pretty good, extensive look at the real me. Have you got enough?”

All the anger, spitefulness and determination left Optimus in a single klik, leaving behind only slight embarrassment about yelling, and sadness. He felt tired again, tired and old and disappointed in everything, like he had wasted his life away. He turned towards the window too, focusing first at his own reflection and after finding it looking as tired as he felt, at the city below. 

“No,” Optimus said. In the reflection on the window's surface he saw Megatron turning his helm a bit to his direction. “No, I haven't seen the real you. At least... Not all of it. You have shown me the utmost worst of you. I haven't seen the good yet.”

Megatron laughed. “And why would you think there's anything like that in me? What are you scheming, Optimus?”

Optimus shrugged. “Nothing. And neither are you. The war is over and our people is moving on. Your Decepticons are scattered, my Autobots have as well. Now, here, it's just you and I. Even more so than it was in the beginning.”

Megatron was quiet for a long while, contemplating. “Maybe so...” he finally admitted, “but there's still something that you want. And don't try to deny it, I know your worst too, my dearest enemy.” 

Optimus' spark leaped. It was a stark contrast to the exhaustion and melancholy he was feeling and felt mostly odd, but it nudged him enough that he focused his optics on their reflections again and sought optic contact. 

“I am not your enemy any longer, Megatron,” he said gently. “I just... Well, it depends on you now. We could try to be friends again.”

Megatron was staring at him through the window mirror. His expression was unreadable, but the tone of his gaze had changed. It was no less intense than before, but open, calculating, considering... Optimus realized the other was searching his own gaze for answers as intensely as he was, and the moment stretched on and on and on, and Optimus didn't ever want it to end. 

“I'll consider it,” Megatron finally said. “But now I will recharge, and I would appreciate if you left me alone.”

Optimus dropped his gaze and smiled towards the floor. “Of course.”

He turned around and walked away towards the study room, leaving Megatron alone, but when he was just about to close the door behind him, he had an awful urge to say something. So he did.

“Good night, Megatron.”

It took a while, but he got an answer: “Good night, Optimus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was our chapter! Strong emotions! Friends worrying about each other! Political games and tug of war! A threat to the peace! Basically, everything. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that, and thank you for reading! As always, I'd love to see kudos and hear your thoughts and feelings in the comments.


	23. Misery loves company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been quite a while again. I wrote and finished a 50k+ long big bang during this break and will publish it in July, so if any of you are interested in Overwatch and reaper76 is your thing you'll have that to look forward to.
> 
> But Uninstall, my baby, and robots. Oh I missed you! I'm anxious to get back on writing this and sharing it with you guys, so thank you for your patience.   
> Also this work has reached 500 kudos!! How awesome is that? Thank you all so so much. As for your comments, I have read them all and will get back to you with them, and that's a promise. 
> 
> Meanwhile, here's an update. The title says it all. Please enjoy!

Dreadwing made his way back home just before the break of dawn. The apartment building was quiet when he got inside as everyone else were probably still in recharge since it was still early, and he almost felt bad when he summoned the noisy elevator to the bottom floor, got inside and proceeded to make his way to his floor accompanied by screeching and rattling. 

Delivery services paid modestly but the apartment was so cheap Dreadwing was actually doing rather well – actually better than ever if he wanted to compare his current situation to the one he had had before the war. His work was now much simpler than back then and definitely worlds away from being a loyal Decepticon soldier, so his current situation could have as well been luxury to him. 

The walls weren't especially thin in the building but the piping was poorly insulated so noise resonated easily, and so out of consideration Dreadwing kept his steps as light as possible when he made his way to his door, fished out the keycard and stepped inside. No banging on the walls was a good sing telling that the neighbourly peace and good will was preserved. 

Earning a decent wage was strange but very useful as it was turning out. He wasn't afraid of losing the apartment, he was always in time with the rent and the landlord was indifferent to him, he was able to purchase fuel other than just the plain, raw energon, and finally, he was able to support one freeloading leech in his home as well. 

Wheeljack was exactly where Dreadwing had left him before he had gone to work: Laying on the padding, under covers and in deep recharge. 

Dreadwing didn't close the front door quietly, and when the locking system activated with a series of clicks there was movement on the padding, then noise.

“Mmmwhat time it is?” Wheeljack groaned from his place, his voice thick and static-laced while his systems were apparently reluctantly booting to full-power mode. 

“The sixth cycle,” Dreadwing replied. He walked straight to the cold compartment and fetched himself a cube of energon. 

“'s too early. Why did you wake me?” Wheeljack complained.

“You recharge so much it hardly matters which time it is,” Dreadwing said, peeling the lid off his cube, “so you might as well get up when I am up and about.”

Wheeljack groaned and mumbled something opposing but to Dreadwing's surprise wrestled himself upright anyway. Dreadwing kept on slowly sipping his morning fuel and watched the other mech roll his joints and stretch while sitting down, slowly powering up and testing his optics before turning his helm and focusing on the flyer. 

“I stink. I think I should take a shower or something,” Wheeljack said, his voice now less glitchy and more hoarse. 

“Let me finish this and we can go together,” Dreadwing said, lifting his cube for emphasis. “Now is the best time of the day to go to the wash-racks, there's no one there this early.” 

Wheeljack moaned. “Just you saying early makes me tired.”

They didn't chat any more than that, so Dreadwing was soon finished with his energon, and they picked up their towels and headed for the communal wash-rack of their floor.

Dreadwing had been right: it was empty at this time of the solar cycle. Wheeljack was grateful for that, since he really didn't need anyone else to witness the pathetic state of his personal hygiene. It was kind of Dreadwing to not mention it, but Wheeljack had a feeling it was starting to bother him too. He could smell the oil and crispy traces of lubricants in his own joints, so he imagined it was apparent to people around him too. 

Wheeljack stepped into one of the small open cubicles and turned on the shower. The liquid sprouting from the showerhead in the ceiling was first cold but quickly heated up and started to steam. Just standing under the rushing liquid felt good, and Wheeljack started to truly wake up. His mind was sluggish and his limbs heavy, but the strain behind his optics and the ache of his processor started to fade away, and no matter how lazy and indifferent he had become being clean felt good too. He didn't have washing solution of his own, so he just turned and stretched under the stream and let the pressure of the shower do away with the grease and oil and whatever else his frame had gathered into its seams and joints. The warmth felt comforting and he wished he could stay there longer, but before long the shower turned itself off automatically in order to save hot washing liquid for the other residents of the floor. When the liquid stopped flowing, the comforting warmth disappeared instantly leaving Wheeljack standing there suddenly soggy and cold. 

Then a towel was placed on his shoulder, and he turned around to find Dreadwing behind him, finished with his shower and drying off his wings. 

“Come on. Let's get back. You haven't fueled in two solar cycles, you must be running low,” the flyer said, turned and walked out, and Wheeljack found himself sheepishly trotting after him.

The apartment was slightly less dark than before they had gone to the wash-racks since the sun was peeking just above the horizon and some of its golden light fell through the apartment's only window. Wheeljack went straight to the cold compartment and took out a cube of regular energon prompted by Dreadwing's comment rather than by notifications of low fuel level – his system seemed to have forgotten how to send those even though he suspected part of his wooziness was due to low fuel levels. 

“I walked past your old block earlier today,” Dreadwing said out of the blue. 

Wheeljack turned to him and watched the other mech walk around the small apartment, draping his towel over a crate on the floor to dry it off, then going over to a metal box under the small desk and emptying things from his subspace.  
Wheeljack didn't know what to make of the comment. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I had to make a delivery nearby, and it made me wonder if you'd like to retrieve some of your possessions from there.”

“Oh,” Wheeljack blandly said. He took a long swig from his cube without tasting any of it. “Nah, I'm good. There's nothing that I care about.”

Dreadwing turned to look at him with a light frown. From the slight flicker of his optics and optic ridges and the subtle tilt of his helm Wheeljack gathered the flyer was giving him a long, measuring look. “Are you certain?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Wheeljack confirmed, a tad bit annoyed. “Look, all I care about right now is having a place to lie down on, and you have that. There's nothing else I need. Or want. Or care about.” He hesitated for a bit before adding: “Thanks anyway.” 

“Very well,” Dreadwing said. “If you change your mind I can ask an acquittance of mine to go and fetch your things. You don't have to go by yourself.”

“Yeah, okay,” Wheeljack replied and expected the conversation to go on, but it didn't. Dreadwing had apparently said everything he deemed important and was content to let Wheeljack be by himself again. Wheeljack was grateful for that and felt slightly better. It was amazing how roomy such a tiny living space could feel with just emotional distance. When they weren't talking Wheeljack felt like he could as well be invisible, so non-existent Dreadwing's attention to him was. He felt like they were complete strangers in a space that didn't belong to anyone, and that made him feel at peace: no pestering attention or prying questions, just non-committal coexistence. He liked having company that didn't drain him immediately. He thought of his friends and felt immediately guilty about blaming them for his own laziness and he had to shake his helm to banish the bitter thought. He wiped his faceplate, drank the last drops of energon from his cube and felt tired again. 

Dreadwing had picked up a datapad from the desk and sat down on the padding with his legs crossed under him. Wheeljack dropped the empty cube in the sink, walked over to the padding and laid down again, just slightly within the social range from the other mech. He lay on his back and stared at the gray ceiling, dwelling in his apathy while hesitantly enjoying the presence of another bot's EM field that let him know just by existing that he wasn't alone. 

“One more thing,” Dreadwing suddenly said.

Wheeljack made an inquiring noise. 

“How about your job? Weren't you assigned one? A mandatory one?”

“I don't think I can go back there anymore. I've been skipped way too many solar cycles without saying anything,” Wheeljack replied. Thinking about his legally enforced job assignment made his plating feel cold and clammy while the insides of his tank felt like they was about to burn through it and leak out. He wondered if he was a fugitive already and what would happen if he was caught. 

“I see.”

“Besides Bulkhead would just ask questions about where I've been. I don't want to have to explain myself,” Wheeljack added to distract himself from the more serious matters.

“Haven't your friends tried to contact you then? It has been over a moon cycle after all.”

“I don't know. Maybe. I've disconnected my commlink.” 

“Is that wise?”

Wheeljack shrugged. “Don't know, don't care. It's probably for the best. They don't need to get mixed in with my problems. They know I move around a lot, they won't worry.” Excuses rolled from his vocalizer easily but he couldn't lie to himself or even be convinced if Dreadwing bought them or not. He calmed himself by noting that he already had some explaining to do, so staying here and sleeping some more wouldn't hurt. “Not sure how my landlord will feel about me just disappearing, though.”

Dreadwing made a funny humming sound, and it took Wheeljack a moment to recognize it as a low chuckle. “If he has been in business in Kaon or Tarn he would be happy that you didn't trash your quarters before you left. Don't concern yourself with some stranger who is in a profitable business. Your business is none of his any longer.”

Wheeljack chuckled at the comment: he hadn't thought about it like that. He had worried about dishonoring the legal contract and causing the landlord extra work by just leaving his stuff around and probably forcing him to change locks because he had disappeared with the keycard. Being reminded that there was really no harm done, just minor inconveniences for someone who could handle it felt good. Wasn't he himself in way worse trouble than someone who owned property and now had some free stuff in there? Who gave a scrap? He felt a rush of pleasure of his selfishness. 

“Thanks for that,” Wheeljack said. His voice sounded small and thin. He didn't know what had happened to it. He had been awake barely for a cycle after recharging for at least twenty but was again exhausted enough to go back to recharge. 

He heard the sound of a datapad being set down on the floor, then the stern padding giving a small groan when Dreadwing lay down on his back as well. They weren't really aligned, but their helms were side by side. Wheeljack didn't turn his helm but continued to stare at the ceiling. They were quiet for long enough for the amount of light slightly increase in the apartment.

“You still have your Autobot mark,” Dreadwing said.

The mention of it made Wheeljack aware of it like it burned. “You still have your Decepticon mark,” he said defensively.

“Yes, I do. Even though I don't need it anymore, like you don't need yours. They used to be useful, now they are more counterproductive.”

“What's your point?” Wheeljack asked, cutting the chase. Being tired made him irritated, he knew that already, except lately he was tired all the time.

“I'm suggesting it would do us both good to get rid of the faction marks. They are things of the past now, after all,” Dreadwing said. His tone of voice gave away absolutely nothing about what he really thought of any of it. 

Wheeljack felt uncomfortable. “I don't want to get rid of mine. It reminds me of what I fought for.”

“It reminds you of war,” Dreadwing said, still neutral. “Most bots consider that undesirable.”

“I'm not most bots,” Wheeljack replied, shrugging. 

“Good. Neither am I.”

“Desirable, then,” Wheeljack said, smirking to himself. 

The mech besides him shifted a bit. “If you say so.” 

*

Starscream stood on the rooftop and stared up to the bright sky. His vents huffed and puffed and the whole frame of the seeker trembled while he struggled to regain control over it, trying his hardest to force his vents to take it down and resume regular cycling of air. Talking with Megatron was always hazardous, and now it was somehow even harder. It shouldn't have been that way now. Now Starscream should have had the upper hand – he was free and led a life that wasn't constantly about sticking his neck out whereas Megatron was held prisoner and humiliated by the very people he had set out to destroy. 

But even in his miserable glass box Megatron sat like he had chosen that life, seemingly unaffected by everything around him, like he had barely even noticed how the whole order of their planet had rejected him and the time passing him by. Megatron was just as collected and intimidating as when he had been backed up by an army and still he mocked Starscream, making him feel like the one who was irrelevant and fallen from grace. 

Irrelevant, fallen from grace and so, so alone. He threw himself off the roof, transformed and set a course towards home.

Loneliness was something he hadn't expected to return to him. Sure, Starscream hadn't expected a lot of things during his existence of late, least of them returning to normal life, but even if he had this heavy feeling of loneliness he definitely couldn't have anticipated. It was bizarre really, how the absence of something could feel this heavy. Emptiness was not supposed to weigh anything. He thought he had grieved his lost bondmates at the time and moved on, he knew it should have been over and done for, and that knowledge made him pissed at himself for still lingering on things lost. 

But even though Starscream hadn't expected these feelings to return he wasn't stupid enough to wonder why: It was precisely because he had returned to normal life. He had after all been a very traditional Vosian seeker and bonded early in his life. He had been barely a century old when he had taken part in the traditional Bonding Flight Festival that was held during the first solar cycle of the stellar one that had more sunlight than the one before, flown as well as he could and found the only two others who could keep up with him. Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp had formed a Trine only a week later and bonded before the stellar cycle came to an end. 

So bonded life and every-day-life were almost seamlessly the same thing to Starscream, and it seemed like the noise of war and the strict routine of the army had kept him from fully dealing with the loss. It was frustrating to find something he had left behind in front of him again, and wearing the identity of a widow came with a whole lot of other issues. For example he hadn't realized he had had expectations about his life after the war, and now he was disappointed and depressed because his life wasn't like he apparently had wanted it to be. 

Skywarp and Thundercracker were offline. “Killed in action” had been the way to put it at the time, and Starscream thought he had accepted it, but now in the quietness of the civil life he really had to process that. It was like despite the war he hadn't fully understood what offline meant, like his mind had on its own decided to believe that his bondmates had just gone away for a while but would come back soon. They'd all meet each other again and be together just like before. 

But that wasn't how it was. Their separation wasn't a temporary one, his bondmates were gone. Starscream tried to make himself accept it, that Skywarp and Thundercracker didn't exist anymore. They were dead, gone for good. Forever. 

Starscream's internal sensors reported a warning about a growing pressure in the coolant tubes, like something wanted to overflow. Starscream flew faster. 

Starscream's home building hadn't been built with flyers in mind and thus there was nowhere he could land there. He had to land on the nearest air traffic tower, take an elevator down and then walk home. Traveling like a grounder agitated him ever further, and by the time he unlocked the door to the apartment he was annoyed, frustrated, depressed and exhausted. 

It was relatively early, but Knockout was home. Starscream's spark did something weird, a combination of flips and sinking, like he was both relieved and annoyed that he wasn't alone. 

Knockout was standing in the kitchen area and focused on the computer screen, but lifted his helm when he heard the door closing. “Well hello,” he said, a tad more reserved than usually and looked Starscream once over from helm to the toestruds. He clearly had remembered what day it was and where Starscream had been.

Starscream didn't bother to answer verbally, just scoffed and strode straight to their couch, threw himself on it and went on to stare out of the window. He felt moody and suddenly bodily exhausted in a way he associated only with inhumanely long patrols. Out of the corner of his optic he discreetly spied on Knockout. The grounder lingered on his place but hadn't gone back to whatever he had been doing before Starscream came home. He had undoubtedly picked up on the atmosphere Starscream had brought in with him and was now debating courses of action, and the seeker couldn't decide if he was happy or annoyed about the medic's social graces. 

After a moment of hesitation Knockout turned the screen off, rounded the kitchen counter and walked to Starscream. The seeker didn't acknowledge him in anyway, and encouraged by the lack of direct hostility Knockout sat down on the couch next to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Knockout offered.

Starscream mumbled something noncommittal. The truth was that he didn't know himself if he wanted to talk about it, the 'it' not being an all too clear entity either. But Knockout was kind – in his own way at least – patient, and somehow managed to have himself associated with home in Starscream's mind, so after a klikcycle of considering Starscream decided to give it a shot.

“It's so unfair,” he sighed, heavy and bitter, “he gets to live up there all nice and cozy and look at me like I'm nothing. Like I didn't follow him for all those eons and lead the entire air force of the Decepticon army!”

Knockout made an agreeing sound and relaxed on the couch, mirroring Starscream's slouched posture but didn't turn his gaze away from his faceplate. “Knowing him, he hasn't forgotten it. Not that he's ever going to mention that,” he said.

Starscream scoffed. “You have a point there, unfortunately...”  
He already knew that, and despite his pride had even accepted that. He frowned to himself; that wasn't the issue that was truly weighing on him, it was something else. “It's still unfair,” he repeated.

Knockout raised an optic ridge. “What is, exactly?”

Starscream squirmed on his place and tried to find the answer. Being glossa-tied was something he hated, and even though Knockout didn't humiliate him about it, it was still something he considered his personal failure. “How is it that even when the highest power of this planet, of our entire civilization, strips Megatron of everything he has, he still ends up with more than I?”

Knockout was quiet for a moment, and Starscream could almost feel him measuring him up with his gaze. “Depends what you mean,” the medic said.

“I mean, at least his living with Optimus Prime. He's getting a second chance, even if he's too much of a fool to realize that,” Starscream bitterly spat, “and what do I get? Nothing, that's it!”

Knockout was quiet again. Then he leaned closer, and when he spoke Starscream heard the familiar thirst for gossip in his voice: “How is Megatron living with his worst enemy a second chance you envy, if I may ask? You clearly know something that I don't.”

Starscream turned his helm enough to throw Knockout a knowing smirk. Suddenly he felt powerful, like the well-kept secret he held was a sharp weapon he could use to wound Megatron, even if it was from a distance and in a rather petty way. 

“I was there, you know,” Starscream began and turned back to stare out of the window. “I was with the Decepticon cause from its starting days before they were even called Decepticons. Sure, I worked in the shadows then and my job was to get closer to Sentinel Prime, but I was there alright. And I often visited Kaon under the guise of my job in the Guard, and I saw many things, some of those being things Megatron didn't want me – or anyone – to see.”

He kept a short pause to enjoy the keen attention of his companion and his own power. The sweet, sweet secret was about to be exposed. “I witnessed Megatron in his gladiator days, how uncouth and dirty he was, and how he gathered his little rebellion while crawling in the filth of Kaon. And I witnessed when a little bot from Iacon heard his oh-so-glorious gospel and had his friend in a higher caste smuggle himself to Kaon to meet this mysterious mech. Let me tell you, that was a sight to see.”

He turned to look at his audience. He decided he liked it when Knockout looked at him like that, optics unblinking and focused only on him. 

“You didn't have to be especially bright to see what was going on there,” Starscream whispered as if he was hinting at some audacious secret. “Megatron and his little librarian friend spent entire solar cycles with each other during that time, always talking and talking and keeping to themselves so much that even Soundwave was jealous! It was rather disgusting, now that I look back at it, how two bots can look at each other like that and do absolutely nothing about it. I suppose Megatron, the blunt tool that he is, only knew lust for battle and revolution and didn't know what else to do!” Starscream barked a dry laugh at his own quip. 

Knockout gave one of his dark, bubbly laughs usually reserved for exciting experiments in his lab. “Well, well... I must say, that does put a rather romantic spin on this whole war and paints our grand leaders with rather tragic colours.” He hesitated with his intake narrowly open, and Starscream realized he wanted him to ask for more. 

“Say...” Knockout carefully began, “how was Prime before he was, well, a Prime? I mean... Him and Megatron? I know our Lord and Master had a certain charisma about him but... Really? Really?”

Starscream had to laugh at that. “I knew you would understand the absurdity of the situation, doctor! Ah, Orion Pax was every bit the stubborn and naive reformer he is today, except... Softer, in someways. Nowadays he's a soldier, then he was just talk.”

“Talk is dangerous, though,” Knockout reminded him.

“Indeed. But as clever as he was, he didn't truly know Kaon, much less its filth. It was just... sparkling optics and infatuation that Megatron fueled and used. He called the little librarian his brother as if they were of the same spark! Soundwave hated that; out of all worthy and loyal gladiator brethren, the Champion of Kaon chose a shiny little Iaconian! Can you imagine the scorn and disdain behind his back?” Starscream paused to laugh again, but the quick high of embarrassing Megatron was running out faster than he had anticipated, and the laugh was losing its mirth. He huffed to himself and at the memory. “Well... That didn't last very long, less than a dozen stellar cycles. Then Megatron let his true colours show and our future Prime learned a lesson he certainly hasn't forgotten. Welcome to the real world, and so forth.”

Knockout had certainly picked up on the dwindling spite and discreetly shifted a little closer on the couch to offer some comfort. “Well... I don't think any second chances are really happening there, if that makes you feel any better.” 

Starscream sighed and slouched on the couch some more. He rested his helm back and stared up at the ceiling. “Yes, well... I can't help but wonder... Which is worse, having them hate you or them being gone?” he muttered. The pressure in the coolant tubes was suddenly back without a warning. 

Knockout was quiet, but still close. 

The ceiling was low and dark. Unpainted because of the lack of resources, probably not even properly finished. 

“Hey, Knockout? Did you even know I used to be bonded before Stormsplitter visited and offered her condolences?” 

“No, I did not,” came the honest answer. 

“I figured,” Starscream said and was horrified by his own chocked up voice. “I suppose... Before the ceasefire I somehow thought things would go back to the way they were. But they won't.”

“Yes.”

“Grief feels really... heavy.”

“Yes, it does.”

They were quiet for a while which was equal amounts of painful and soothing, and Starscream felt like he could be completely honest just for a moment: “I don't know if I'll make it through this.”

Soundlessly Knockout shifted just a little bit closer, enough that their shoulder guards pressed together. “Well, we're war veterans. We didn't know that before, and we still don't, so nothing new. But we made it this far, so we might as well give it a shot.”

Starscream chuckled dryly. “Whatever you say, doctor.” 

*

It was past the third cycle of the night cycle, too late for night life to be in full swing anymore but too early to call it morning yet, when Wheeljack woke up without a reason and couldn't go back to recharge. He was suddenly wide awake and couldn't understand why. He had obviously been asleep for a long time, it was evident by his disorientation when he tried to figure out where he was, what the time was and what was dream and what was reality. In his dream there had been distant cannon fire and the smells of scorching hot iron and smoke, but in the real world there was nothing of sorts, just a faint dripping sound from the poorly insulated pipes and the barely-there hum of night-time traffic from the highway leading away from Iacon. He was strangely disappointed by the safe and mundane reality.

But he certainly wasn't tired anymore so he got up and walked to the cold compartment. His ankle-joints ached and his walk was slow, but when he finally opened the compartment's door and peered inside he noticed he wasn't really hungry after all. Dreadwing had apparently been to grocery shopping since there were fresh cubes of energon stocked in piles, but instead of a cube Wheeljack took a bottle of flavored coolant and shut the door. The cap hissed and he downed the whole thing in one go; he wasn't hungry, but thirsty he apparently was. 

He tossed the bottle into the sink and was about to return to the padding and the inviting warmth of the covers when he turned and met the gaze of red optics. He hadn't even noticed that Dreadwing was up and about, sitting cross-legged on his own side of the padding with a datapad in servo, apparently reading. 

“You should fuel properly,” Dreadwing said. “Your systems will eventually start to shut down if your fuel levels drop for too long.”

Wheeljack groaned. “What are you now, a doctor suddenly? Leave me alone.”

Dreadwing lowered his gaze back on the pad, unaffected by the rudeness. “Speaking from experience, that's all. Did you know that your transformation function is a luxury, at least according to your survival systems? That ability will leave you very quickly if you neglect fueling, and a bot who can't transform is a sad sight.”

Wheeljack stilled and considered this. He had lost limbs in battles but those were easy enough to replace if you just had proper hospital equipment available, and he had outright refused to smooth out the welding marks on his faceplate, but he hadn't considered what it would be like to be forced to remain in one form. He had never damaged his t-cog in battle but what if he was about to do that now, just because of his own stubbornness? Suddenly he felt stupid, and since Dreadwing was minding his own business, he turned back to the cold compartment and took one of the energon cubes, removed the lid and tossed that into the sink, then forced himself to empty as much of the cube as he could stomach. 

The taste of energon was thick, heavy with metals and almost sickening. He had to consciously make himself swallow and tolerate the weight of it as it settled into his tank. The subtle ache of hunger was gone but left him feeling uncomfortably full, so he set the cube down. He had drunk only about half of it but put it back into the cold compartment anyway. 

When he turned to return to his place, Dreadwing was watching him again. “A wise choice,” he commented.

“Whatever,” Wheeljack said, dragged himself back to the padding and let himself collapse on his front. He inhaled the oily scent of used berthcovers before he turned his helm to the side, facing his roommate. “Shouldn't you be at work or something?”

Dreadwing raised an optic ridge at the screen he held in his servo. “Not today. Yesterday I had an evening shift, so today I'm free. I woke up out of a habit and decided to read a little bit, that's all.”

“Huh. So there's fairness in the world,” Wheeljack said.

Dreadwing lifted his gaze and gave him a questioning look.

“I meant that they're not overworking you. It's only fair that you get to spend some free time after a late shift. That's nice,” Wheeljack cleared up. 

“It is indeed. I must say I'm not used to treatment like this,” Dreadwing said thoughtfully. “When I was just a factory worker in Kaon one shift lasted for several solar cycles. I'm not used to recharging every night cycle.”

“Wow. Tough,” Wheeljack muttered. 

“I survived,” Dreadwing said with a shrug. 

“Hmm.” Wheeljack inspected the Decepticon in the dark, and he watched back. Every now and then Wheeljack became very aware of his roommate and how he was indeed an enemy soldier. The label didn't seem to fit all that well anymore, not since said enemy had allowed Wheeljack to drag his pathetic hive into his one-room apartment and keep rusting there without paying a credit of the rent or buying any of the fuel. He couldn't decide what to call this on-going gesture the former Decepticon extended to him: it was too casual to be kindness, it didn't feel like mercy, and he was fairly certain Dreadwing didn't feel pity. 

A Decepticon who didn't mind his existence or the bother he as causing. How curious.  
“Why are you still here?” Wheeljack suddenly asked. 

Dreadwing raised an optic ridge. “Here? As in, this apartment? This city?”

“More like this planet,” Wheeljack said. “Don't you have anything better to do?”

Dreadwing hummed quietly and chewed on the inside of his intake. “Well I cleaned you off the streets, didn't I? So there's 'something better'. But I could return the question to you. You don't seem to do anything, so why stay?”

“I have friends here, plus the court's orders,” Wheeljack replied automatically. He suddenly felt defensive. 

“Friends. Haven't you isolated yourself from them rather successfully? Shouldn't they be looking for you?” Dreadwing asked. His tone was neutral even though it would have been easy to read into the subtext of his question and find it accusatory. Wheeljack felt somewhat embarrassed anyway.

“Yeah, but... I'm just taking my own time, you know? It's not their problem,” he answered, surprised by his honesty as well as the bitterness that flooded his spark when he spoke the truth. Something cold clawed at his insides, dragging him down. His moment of clarity let him really look at the isolation he had created and realize how deep the pit really was. The clawing intensified. 

“Yes, I know the value of private time,” Dreadwing almost sighed, then stretched himself on the padding as well and set his datapad aside. When its light went out they were left in the darkness, and Wheeljack felt suddenly more comfortable with the truths now that he wasn't watched. 

“I myself took a while for myself when I searched for the remains of my twin, brought them here and properly laid him to rest on Cybertron. It was supposed to be the last deed I do, since after all half of my lifeforce had already gone to Primus when my twin perished. I have no real purpose anymore, but I suppose work distracts me from that, at least for now. That, and supporting you,” Dreadwing said to the ceiling. 

Wheeljack felt a shiver. The possibility of just ending things felt so real in the moment, and he remembered what the Decepticon had asked him when he had come across him in the Memorial Park: “Are you here to extinguish my spark?” Like he had been ready to let it happen. He had been praying for it. Wheeljack swallowed. 

“That's it? There's nothing more left?” he asked.

“I don't have all the answers in the Universe. For those I suppose you'd have to turn to God,” Dreadwing said. “If you ask a mortal spark, though, it would be a question what you want.”

“What I want?” Wheeljack repeated to himself, pondering the question and every part of it individually. _What_ he wanted? What _he_ wanted? What he _wanted?_ Truly? 

“Living is ultimately without a purpose,” Dreadwing said. “We seem to realize how precious it is to us only when it's threatened. Living with the burden of a low caste held little pleasure and much suffering, but most bots I knew wanted to see those few pleasures so badly they were ready to do anything. To fight through every solar cycle, sometimes every cycle. I wonder... what it was that we really wanted, then? What made it all worth it?”

Wheeljack rolled on his side and prepped himself up on his elbow. He was closer to Dreadwing than he had anticipated but didn't let it bother him. He leaned over the other mech and peered down on his faceplate.

Dreadwing eyed him with emotionless optics. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” Wheeljack grunted, took a hold of the other mech's chin and mushed their lipplates together. It was barely a kiss at first, Wheeljack was too baffled by his own impulsive decision to properly make it anything more than just a messy contact but he gathered his wits quickly when the bliss of kissing someone caught up with him. He moved his lipplates, slipping them against the other pair and inhaling a breath passing between them, and soon he received a sluggish response. For a klik they stayed like that, lipplates slotted, their vents drawing in each other's scent and warmth, and prolonged the contact, greedy for intimacy but too careful to rush it. 

When their lipplates finally parted Wheeljack lifted his helm to look at Dreadwing and was met with still emotionless even if slightly brighter optics. They inspected each other for a klik, unsure and questioning, and the moment ended with Dreadwing putting his servo on the back of Wheeljack's neck and pulling him down again. 

The second kiss was more honest than the first. They sank into it with open passion as if they had been doing it for ages, straight into the deep end with biting motion, probing glossa and occasional dentae. Wheeljack was so overwhelmed with the sensation he even forgot to be self-conscious about his scarred lower lipplate. It had been so long since he'd last been kissed he felt like he was over-charged, and then the other mech put both his arms around him and yanked him closer. 

Wheeljack fell on top of him gladly, sneaking his arms around the flyer's neck. He tilted his helm to the side and opened his intake more, welcomed the tighter contact, didn't mind a wet trail dripping down his chin, suckled on the glossa pushing into his intake. 

One kiss was followed my another, then another, and then another. It started to look like neither one of them was in any hurry to get things over with, but on the contrary got more and more comfortable right there.   
Wheeljack felt like a starving bot who had dived helm first into an energon fountain and was attempting to drink it dry, but he also wanted closer. He wanted more contact than just their intakes, he wanted to feel the other up entirely and be felt up in return. He wanted to get under the hood. 

He loosened the tight hold his arms had around Dreadwing's neck and let his servos feel his frame. He traced rugged edges and robust armor of the heavy aerial, all the way from shoulder guards to chassis and down to his thighs, all thick and hot under his servos. He felt more present in reality and his own frame now than in a long while, as if his frame was coming out of stasis and aching for life, for contact. And ache it did.

Dreadwing went along with the moment and its easiness. It had been a long, long time since he'd last made any kind of intimate contact with anyone but still his frame knew its way around as easily as it did with weapons and killing. He couldn't decide if the eagerness of his partner was comforting or exciting, but before his processor made its decision his frame made it for him by turning the cooling fans up and charging him up. He welcomed the tingly buzzing as well as the clumsy, rough caress of Wheeljack's servos. They pawed and grasped at him, then traced their way back up again. One of them graced the cover of his interface panel on his chassis, making the flyer jerk. At first he thought that had been an accident, but then the servo returned, and what had been a gentle stroke at first turned into an insisting rub. 

Dreadwing pulled back from the kiss and sought optic contact. “You can't be serious.”

Wheeljack's optics were bright and heavily lidded. “But I am. Come one, I know you want it too.”  
His digits drew shaky circles on the panel. His lipplates were glistening wet, and his cooling fans were just as noisy as Dreadwing's. “Please?” the Autobot added.

That was a sound Dreadwing liked. “You first, then.”

Wheeljack made a thin sound in the back of his intake, like a choked back noise of delight and did as he was told. He leaned into a kiss that was as deep as the ones before and even sloppier in a lazy sort of way. Then there was a metallic snapping sound of what could only be a retracting interface panel. He blindly searched for something, then found and grasped Dreadwing's wrist, brought it to his chassis and shoved it against his exposed array. 

Dreadwing shuddered involuntarily and bit down on the grounder's lipplate. He flared his digits and carefully felt around the equipment with the gentle expertise of a bomb maker. He traced the chrome outlines of the sensitive ports and the still retracted coils, all thrumming with electricity. The gentle fingering caused a spark to go off between them and Wheeljack to jerk back from the kiss and just hover there, tense and panting hot air against Dreadwing's intake. 

“Come on,” Wheeljack breathed, “you too.”

The only answer he got was Dreadwing yanking him back down for a kiss. The flyer's panel made almost no sound as it folded back and exposed his array.

Wheeljack pulled back again. “How are your firewalls?” 

Dreadwing stilled. “I... Don't know. I haven't done this in a long time.”

“Me neither. I don't think I have anything for this,” Wheeljack said, voice raspy. He considered this for exactly three kliks before he said, “frag it,” and bent back down.   
Dreadwing didn't object. He had almost been ready to be disappointed. 

Wheeljack fumbled blindly at Dreadwing's chassis. If he had ached before now he was throbbing, trembly and impatient to get hooked up, and no matter how quickly that was going to happen it wouldn't be quick enough. His clumsy digits found a coil and started to coax it out. It sparked with ready charge and almost burned his digits, and it was warm allover as he felt it around while guiding it to his port. 

The connection was even more intense than Wheeljack recalled it being. Immediately when the coil locked into place he felt the stream of electricity and data surge his chassis, overwhelming him and forcing out a litany of sputtering moans and curses. He could feel thousands and thousands of sensors and circuits within him suddenly lighting up making him feel parts of himself he didn't know existed, and this was only half of the circuit; Wheeljack was certain in his hazy mind that completing the circuit would make him overheat and burn up. He wanted to burn. 

And this was only half. He was receiving charge and data as Dreadwing was pouring in his desire, reserved and somewhat confused excitement and undertones of anxiety, and Wheeljack wasn't giving anything back yet. He made a frustrated groan and fumbled at his own panel, trying to yank out a coil to give all this back to his partner, but he was trying to do too many things at once: to connect, to kiss, to keep himself balanced on top of the flyer. 

Dreadwing's servo covered his. “Easy there,” he said. His voice had turned all breathy and deep as well, but his servos were steady. “I'll meet you half-way, just relax.” The flyer found his pedes, used his hips as leverage and rolled them over. Gentle and firm, sharp digits pulled a spasming cord to his own array where it found an equally eager port and plugged in.

The circuit was completed and the rushing stream of data and sensory information and emotion and seeding memory files washed over them both so intensely they convulsed towards each other, grasping on with their servos where they happened to reach.

Electricity cracked and the faint scent of atmosphere filled the room. 

Wheeljack vented deep and fast, feeling overwhelmed by a strange presence in him, and he ached for it, reached for it like he needed it. He wanted to sink deeper into the stream, override every internal firewall and split open all of himself to be freely shared. He didn't know when he had offlined his optics but when he brought them back online he saw that Dreadwing wasn't doing much better, his red optics dimmed down and intake open and cooling fans whirling.

But neither one needed their optic receptors right now. Actually all receptors focusing on outside information were now low in priority. They needed to only feel and experience. The stream took over.

_...yes.... yes yes yesyes want you need you to me for me to see me have me feel good yes -_

_...flying as if you took me take you have me come yes come want you want need you –_

_\- you make me feel need be better yes want closer more goodgood yes feel painsweet burn good -_

_\- fill you up higher harder closer more stay hold me feel you good sweet -_

The two-way flood of raw unprocessed data streamed too fast to be decoded perfectly but that wasn't the point. Chaotic genuine pulses passed between them and soon it would be impossible to know who passed on and who received what first. They shared themselves with each other, a connection too deep to describe with words for physical sensors. __

_\- sweet higher kiss me closer you hold hurt me -_

_\- lost scared help me caress me you feel good so good hurtkiss kiss fill me take me yes now -_

_\- come high take you make you come do it have me let's be here good beautiful -_

_\- again kiss me again I want I want want need you here stay don't leave please me want kiss -_

The connection pulsed demand, and prompted by it Dreadwing blindly sought the warm puffs of exventing intake and pressed his intake against it in an attempt to kiss. A small amount of electric charge cracked when their lipplates pressed together. 

The small surface current was nothing compared to the amount of charge pouring into and loading up their internal systems. By now their plating was hot and system after system was flooded under the current of their shared stream, seeping deeper and deeper, towards their cores. Sparks shimmered and flared in their chambers, burning and pulsing, impossibly bright. __

_\- Yes so good again again deeper I want to feel come to me come come yes -_

_\- I want to feel harder deeper hurt me caress me feels good I want need to_

_come good perfect yes want yes sink here hold harder closer_

_harder take take give here yes take me have me accept me_

_hold you need want you want us closer tighter so close close more_

_more I want to yes yes please please me I give all yes yes there pleaseyes..._

The building charge was steady and fast and the inevitable overload teased them for a torturous, blissful moment before it finally pulled them under and drowned them in satisfaction. For a moment every single part of their frames seemed to be alight, burning and blazing and making them tense up, shiver and enjoy a few moments of complete oblivion. Then all that charge drained from their frames, leaving behind systems that felt scorched clean, still warm and unable to respond. Processors were slowly booting themselves up again.

Dreadwing came to first, if only barely, and disconnected them. The connection was severed, and they both returned to their lonely physical existences, a cruel contrast to the absolute sharing that had just transpired between them. 

Wheeljack took in a shivery breath like he had been wounded, and his servos darted to take a hold of the mech still half on top of him to keep him there a moment longer. His optics onlined and he took an alarmed look around him, and Dreadwing onlined his optics to meet his gaze. When their optics locked, tension escaped both of their frames. They inspected each other, both mostly spent but also mildly curious, like the reality of what they had just done hadn't completely sunken in yet despite their tingling frames telling a clear tale. 

After a moment of mutely peering into each other's optics they silently agreed that it was okay. Wheeljack let go of Dreadwing and instead put his arms properly around him where they could reach, and Dreadwing let himself slump down and relax in the other mech's side. He pressed his faceplate in the crook of Wheeljack's neck and inhaled. He was suddenly tired. 

Outside the sun was rising, and a small block of orange morning light seeped in from their window and made a neat rectangle on the front wall near the ceiling. Both mechs drifted off while listening to the morning traffic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep yep, that happened. That's a thing now. The best part of writing a fanfic is to put all the stuff I like in it, and I happen to like Wheeljack/Dreadwing. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love as always, and I'm grateful for each and every one of them. Share your feelings, both good and bad. All feedback is welcome.


	24. The Pit Spawn and the Librarian (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers!  
> It's been a while again, but don't worry, despite the updating schedule I'm writing a lot. It's the editing that's a bitch. Also I wrote [a bigbang fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11425290) in between chapters, so if you're into Overwatch check it out.
> 
> Guys I'm so excited for this chapter. So excited I can't tell you, you just have to read. I did something exceptional this chapter as you can tell by the title and split this in half for its length. I'm sure you wouldn't complain about getting 24 pages at once but for me that's just impractical. 
> 
> Also some of you might recall that a while back I asked for ideas for Cybertronian news papers. Well, now they are relevant. [Bonnini](http://bonnini.tumblr.com/) named Iacon's Echo, so thanks to her! Thanks for anyone who contributed to the conversation.
> 
> Some sweet sweet drama ahead.

The reporters were apparently having a field day. The whole week had been busy, first with the official re-founding of the Cybertronian Science Academy in Crystal City, then with the publishing of the Council's budget for the following stellar cycle, and finally the with the updated resources and instructions for taxes, the latter demanding extensive, thoroughly researched articles for the citizens. And now on top of all of those there was the increasing restlessness in the area of the Three Big Bads. 

The three major newspapers of the planet had the same subject for their biggest headlines this morning, and several smaller local ones tagged along. 

Optimus sipped his can of hot oil, the only one left of the last package of supplies provided for them, browsed the news, enjoyed the orange morning light and felt nostalgic. The oil didn't taste like he remembered it, but it was thick and rich in flavor, something that still felt like a luxury after so long at war and on rationed fuel, and it was close enough to take Optimus back to his youth. He had had many morning almost exactly like this, getting up early, reading the news while having a can of oil before heading to the Hall of Records to work. 

Adding to the nostalgia, all the news today were about Kaon, Tarn and Blaster City – the Three Big Bads. The reputation had stuck mainly because regarding infrastructure the cities were all the same: A few of Tarn's mines had been rediscovered and put back to use, new processing centers were being built near those, and Kaon was about to become a city of factories once again. Blaster City wasn't officially called that anymore but a new name hadn't been decided yet either, so it was stuck with its unappealing name and reputation even though out of the three it was going through the most dramatic changes. Additionally the majority of the bots inhabiting the cities were emigrants, and so the spirits of the cities were intact or at least newly awakened. 

But the protests going on were peaceful, even if large, noisy and inconvenient. Optimus was happy to notice that not a single source reported on outbreaks of fighting or even considerable property damage, even if the headlines and the pictures accompanying them were rather dramatic.

 

**PROTESTS SPREAD ACROSS BAD LANDS: Rumored Primal visit divides people**

**Kaonian people against the Prime institution**

**MINERS OF TARN ON STRIKE: 'Down with old power!'**

**Political atmosphere of Bad Lands intensifies: Police prepares for riots**

 

These were some of the headlines of different news stories, some larger articles, some quick spoofs and shorter reports. 

The largest newspaper, the newly founded Iacon's Echo led with a six-page article about both sides, those against the Prime institution and the visit and those in favor of the Prime, with maps about the protest lines, summaries of the common arguments and heavy emphasis on the economic consequences with the workers striking and streets being occupied. 

The much smaller, locally run and independent newspaper Kaon Awoke reported with big headlines, short reports and lots and lots of pictures. 

All in all, Optimus was happy that people were on the move and proud of how organized and successfully peaceful they were, but he had to recognize the anxious buzz in the bottom of his tank when he thought about this whole deal and expected the call. 

Captain Override herself had visited them last night and dropped off the case with the familiar holomessage system they had used after the Day of Peace and the murder of Council Member Starlight. She had brought a message from the Council about an early conference call that would take place the very next morning, and Optimus had a good idea what this was about considering the public discussion and its current number one topic. 

And since it was morning it was Megatron's turn to use the wash-rack so he wasn't in the kitchen when the message system started to beep. Optimus arranged himself properly, pulled up the datapad that had his notes and the currently very relevant news stories, set the oil can so it would be in the frame to give the other end the illusion that he was caught off-guard, then checked the time and threw a glance at the berthroom door: in the wash-rack the shower was still running, and Megatron would be oiling his joints and sharpening his claws for a good half a cycle after that, so there was plenty of time. 

The other end of the holomessanger was transmitting from a conference room that judging by the high ceiling and decorative marble pillars was located somewhere inside the Hall of High Powers. There were only three council members present, and Captain Override in the background. Council members Avalon of Vos, Actinide of Kaon and Ratbat of Iacon all looked stern and determined, and something told Optimus that this conference call would be a swift one. 

“Good morning, honored members or the Council,” Optimus greeted them. 

He received only nods back before Ratbat opened his intake and launched them straight to business: “This call is about your second public appearance and your proposal on the matter, and I'll only say this: It's not going to happen!”

Optimus stared Ratbat down with a polite smile, then turned to glance at the two other council members who were both wearing expression that told him it definitely wasn't decided yet. Optimus pressed the matter: “And why not? We can't do all our public appearances in Iacon, that would be blatant regional favoritism.”

Ratbat groaned and rolled his optics. Avalon opened her intake to say something, but Ratbat was faster: “Just a _rumor_ of you two setting your pedes in Kaon has sparked protests! If you go there, it'll be a full-blown riot and you know it!”

Actinide laughed. “That's Kaonian spirit for you!”

Avalon shook her dark blue wings. The gesture could have been interpreted as a shrug, but Optimus also read clear annoyance there: The femme was young but aware of her power. “I do worry about the restlessness of Kaon, Tarn and the third City,” she began with a clear, pointed tone, “but I do think that it would make a powerful point to favor the Bad Lands area. A _positive_ point.”

Ratbat snorted dismissively, and even Actinide narrowed her optics at the rude sound. “That would be wasted on the working class bots! And, I can't stress enough, they don't want you there!” Ratbat argued.

Optimus had expected that. “Is that so?” He pulled up the datapad and pointedly swiped through multiple articles. “From what I've read there are two sides on the issue. I have read all about the protests across Bad Lands, and the strongest negative vibe comes from Tarn, and even their strikes only lasted for three solar cycles. Kaon is divided but peaceful. You speak of riots, Council Member Ratbat, but there have not been even vandalism or fighting yet. Kaon Awoke has published multiple pictures from their streets, which are crowded but peaceful, along with very level-headed reports on both sides.”

Ratbat narrowed his optics and his upper lipplate twitched like he wanted to make a face at Optimus, but he had nothing to say.

“What I'm most interested in right now is not so much how the protests in the Bad Lands are going but how the rumour of the visit reached them in the first place,” Avalon said with a thoughtful frown. She was holding a pen and tapped it on something outside the frame, most likely a pad with notes of her own.

Actinide smiled a sly smile and raised her optic ridge at the bots on both sides of her. The small Kaonian femme was obviously enjoying this more than worrying about it, possibly used to the flexible attitude towards authority and rules of her home city. 

Ratbat latched onto Avalon's point so eagerly he straightened up on his seat as if pulled by a string and pointed accusingly at Optimus. “An excellent point, Council Member Avalon! How _did_ this information leak happen indeed?! Through your scout called Bumblebee, perhaps!?”

“I hardly think so,” Optimus calmly said. He was in good mood, so good actually that he could humor himself by comparing Ratbat's way of debating to Megatron's and thank the latter for all the good practice in the master class: Ratbat was a laughably easy to predict and beat. “My scout Bumblebee visited me just yesterday, but the bots of Bad Lands heard the rumor five solar cycles ago, and I can assure you we did not invent time travel while our team was on Earth. No, I believe this leakage is at your end.”

Avalon bit her lipplate to suffocate a smile while Actinide didn't bother to do even that.

“Well there you have it, Council Member Ratbat! But as interesting as the origins of this rumor are, it doesn't solve the issue. As Kaonian myself, I can say that we've always been a lively bunch. But in my opinion the protesting culture is a good sign and won't lead to violence because it is a _replacement_ for that. Let me tell you, in old Kaon it was impossible to deliver a simple sermon without at least one fist fight breaking out!” Actinide said. A soft smile appeared on her faceplate when she spoke of old Kaon and her religious work, but vanished when her reason seemed to catch up with her feelings. 

Avalon nodded thoughtfully. “An interesting point, Council Member Actinide, a very interesting point. I understand that good Captain Override's bondmate is currently the chief constable of the police department in Kaon?”

“That is correct,” Override supplied from the background. 

“Has she submitted a report?” Avalon asked, half turning around so she could see Override.

Actinide answered for her: “She has indeed. Her department has overseen the larger protests and she sees no reason to expect a riot to break out. The department in former Blaster City has prepared for the possibility, but according to Stormsplitter more because of pressure coming from Iacon and Praxus than any real threat.” 

Avalon dropped her pen and spread her arms. “Well there we go! Personally I see no reason to not approve of Optimus Prime's request.”

“Neither do I,” Actinide said.

Both femmes turned to Ratbat, who had to accept that he was alone against the idea. “Very well then,” he admitted, his expression sour, “your request is hereby approved. Prepare yourselves tomorrow morning on the sixth cycle. But don't say I didn't warn you!”

The line cut without conclusions or goodbyes, and just in time because Megatron emerged from the berthroom. When he stepped into the kitchen he immediately saw something was going on and turned his suspicious gaze to Optimus. “What is this?”

Optimus laced his digits together and leaned his chin on them. “I sorted something out with the Council about our next public appearance.”

Megatron looked incredibly displeased. “Without me?!”

“Don't worry, you will like this, “Optimus calmly assured him. “Tomorrow morning we are going to travel to Kaon.”

All signs of irritation and suspicion vanished from Megatron's face. For a moment he looked pleasantly surprised and a little bit touched. It was a strange look on him.

“I better tell Soundwave that I'm going to come home, then,” Megatron finally said, turned around and walked to the office space to use the computer. 

Optimus hadn't expected gratitude, but the look on Megatron's face was more precious a reward than any words could have been anyway, and now Optimus couldn't stop smiling. 

*

Megatron woke up full of energy and looking forward to the events of the solar cycle, a feeling he hadn't felt in a long while. He checked his internal parameters for time, found out it was just about to hit the fifth cycle and so he was just in time to get up and start to impatiently pace around the apartment until they would begin their journey to Kaon.

Kaon. Megatron felt an odd warm sensation near his spark when he thought of the city. He had usually glossed over the opportunities to name a place to call home since a great leader should be from everywhere, but Kaon meant a great deal to him even if he hadn't made a habit of saying that out loud. 

He got up from his place, folded the padding and piled the pillow and sheets neatly on top of it and walked to the kitchen to get some fuel. He knew that his Kaon existed only in his memory files now, but judging by the latest news the spirit was very much alive and well. He wondered if bots down there were as connected as before and how well the word of his return Soundwave had put out had spread. He was certain that people would welcome him back to their shared home, to his old, original territory, and let him roam around even if they had mixed opinions about Optimus tagging along.

Megatron's spark leaped in nostalgic joy. In Kaon he wouldn't have to worry about the guards – he would actually be quite surprised if guards would escort them further than the station – and he was free to go wherever he wished, and with Optimus no less.

At the cold compartment Megatron quickly updated his inventory. He had carefully rationed the energon they were provided since right when the first package arrived he had noticed the fuel was counted for a regularly functioning bot of a large frame class. This meant that Megatron with his already powerful miner's engine that had been upgraded to fit first a gladiator and then a warrior was constantly just a little bit under-fueled. Not that he didn't enjoy the exercise in discipline, but he also didn't believe it to be a coincidence: Ratbat had most likely had a servo in that decision. 

But today was an important day, so Megatron sacrificed his plan to be fully fueled for at least three solar cycles and downed three full cubes of energon. There was always a chance of ending up in a fight in Kaon and at least a few friendly ones were almost certainly going to happen so he should be prepared, and he wasn't going to take Optimus to his home city as anything less than his best self either. 

Optimus rose exactly half a cycle before their appointed time and joined Megatron in the kitchen. Optimus had long ago given up on trying to make him exchange morning greetings but he did seek optic contact and smile. 

Megatron returned the optic contact but not the smile. He watched as Optimus reached for the cold compartment to get his own morning fuel, apparently thinking along same lines as him judging by the amount of fuel he took out of it.

It was bizarre to stand in a squeaky-clean kitchen in a luxury apartment in Iacon with Optimus and share morning fuel. Bizarre was the perfect word, but even that didn't quite reach the whole of what Megatron felt. This was like trying to invent a new colour, or try to remember something he had never known. Seeing Optimus in this strange, domestic context felt impossible even though he was staring right at him. Megatron felt uneasy. 

The guards arrived perfectly on time, and Megatron and Optimus followed them down to the familiar sub-surface level where a transportation vehicle was waiting for them. The streets were quiet with only a promise of the morning traffic there, and by counting turns, bumps in the road and stops at traffic lights Megatron quickly deducted they were about to be taken to the airport. His spark jumped in joy again; they would get there faster with a shuttle. 

He had missed home, he had to admit that much to himself. 

At the airport a second party of guards joined their little convoy, much to Megatron's amusement: As if he couldn't have teared his way through all ten of them as easily as if there was only five with his bare servos, and as if it wouldn't be Optimus who'd wrestle him down and make him behave if he started something. He could have laughed at them but let them have their false sense of security and glanced by his side at Optimus instead. 

The Prime was obviously keeping an optic on him as well but was very subtle about it, and Megatron was sure that if he hadn't known him for such a long time even he wouldn't have noticed it. He wanted to laugh at him as well; for all his talk about rekindling friendship he sure feared Megatron would somehow blow something up. 

The airport was busy and among other travelers, large loading trains, and big bots working in transportation they barely stood out. They didn't go through the regular travelers' system but were taken to the cargo side where even more security personnel, this time on behalf of the airport, joined them to guide them to their shuttle. Everyone was calm and professional about the matter, and Megatron would have bet credits stating they were all happy to wave them off from Iacon. 

The shuttle they and their guards were taken to was a large industrial one clearly capable of short-distance space travel. Megatron and Optimus were guided to the cargo hold, and their four remaining guards joined the crew on the control bridge. 

To their pleasant surprise the cargo hold wasn't completely sealed but had a row of windows near the ceiling, and there were bright lights illuminating the space. Megatron took a good look around in case there was something like surveillance tech around but saw nothing of the sorts, only some cargo in large tied-down metal crates. He and Optimus were apparently counted as cargo as well since there was a lot of space for them to move around comfortably, space that could have been used for actual cargo instead of passengers. 

Optimus thanked the guards and even the loading workers who sealed the hold after them, then wandered with no hurry to the back of the shuttle and took a seat on top of a crate. Megatron followed him and chose a seat for himself where he could keep watching him and so they ended up seated opposite of each other but with some distance between them, not too much but still more than the regular conversation space. 

The shuttle's engine started and what little noise could be heard from the bridge above them was drowned out by it. Megatron casted all worry about possible listening bugs out of his mind with great relief: not even Soundwave could spy on them with this much interference. They were finally alone together, on their way to Kaon. 

The shuttle took off.

“Did you do this?” Megatron asked. 

Optimus had stared out of a window with a serene expression on his face but now he focused on Megatron again. “Do what?” he asked as if he didn't know what Megatron meant. 

“This trip. Did you arrange it so we'd go to Kaon?” Megatron asked while carefully studying the Prime's expressions and optics. He wasn't used to Optimus looking at him like that, calm and almost smiling. It was unnerving. 

The blue optics threw a quick glance at the ceiling before returning to Megatron's. “I might have suggested it, yes.”

Megatron narrowed his optics and drummed his knee-guard with his digits. “And why would you do that?”

Optimus shrugged as if it was all a coincidence but the small smile tugging at the corner of his intake told another story. “Must there be a reason?”

A game, then. Sure, if he was going to run, Megatron was going to chase. “Oh, I don't know about _a must_ , but I know you're not as innocent and pure as you let on, so there most likely is. I'd like to know what that is.”

Optimus raised his optic ridges and tilted his helm curiously to the side. Now he was definitely fighting a grin. “You'd like to, wouldn't you? Do you think I have an ulterior motive? Some sort of an angle I'm playing here?”

“I don't know, do you?” Megatron pressed on. He felt like the truth was hanging on a rope between them and they were playing tug-of-war of it. 

Optimus finally smiled and quickly pressed his chin down to hide it. “Well why not? Kaon _does_ have a special meaning in the grand scheme of things, don't you think? Besides, I decided on our first public appearance, so it's only fair that the next one would be to your liking.”

“But it was you who made this decision as well, though,” Megatron pointed out, crossing his arms. It was overbearing of the Prime for sure. He probably hadn't trusted Megatron to keep his helm cool enough to argue the proposition with the Council (Ratbat hadn't ever shied away from calling Kaonians filthy pit-dwellers, and he had hardly changed from those times) and just did it himself behind his back. Not that Megatron really took offense at that, no. Because he really _did_ want to go to Kaon. And being surprised with a trip to Kaon almost felt like a... present. 

Optimus shrugged again. “I thought I'd spare you from Ratbat's uncouth arguments against the trip. You can make the decision on the next two completely on your own though, if that makes you feel better.”

Megatron's optics flashed at the opportunity. “I just might make you keep that promise,” he threatened with a chuckle.

“By all means,” Optimus said and turned to look out of the window again.

They had a long flight ahead of them. Unless some major improvements had been made in flight technology while Megatron had been locked up they were looking ahead to ten cycles before they would land anywhere near Kaon, so he had plenty of time to think. 

He glanced at Optimus, who seemed perfectly content to look outside as the clouds and the occasional other air traffic drifted by, and he had this calm and clear air around him like he was at peace and happy right where he was. Megatron used to be so infuriated by Optimus' cool and collected image, hard like a diamond and full of warrior's confidence and pride, but seeing him now without that image was almost unnerving. Strange, and out of place. Only when he was still Orion Pax had he been like this in Megatron's company, and he had been smaller and lighter then, and younger too. That same spark lived inside the war frame of a Prime.

His guard was down as well, Megatron noted as he took in Optimus' relaxed pose with his servos casually laying in his lap. Any other bot with a grudge against Optimus Prime would have thought this was the perfect chance to attack, but Megatron knew better: He himself had just mere few stellar cycles ago attacked Optimus who was on his knees, probably still dizzy after charging up the matrix with the power of Vector Sigma and didn't even know who and where he was, yet he had still stopped Megatron's blade between his servos. No, fighting was now hardwired into Optimus and that programming would come forth the klik he needed it. 

But something had changed between them, Megatron knew that. It must have been due to their latest argument that had possibly been the worst one out of them all, even if counting those they had had with swords and guns. They hadn't really spoken to each other after that, and the atmosphere in their little prison had been something it hadn't been ever before: awkward. 

All this time Megatron had been sure that it had been Orion who had betrayed him: He had yelled it to Optimus' face enough times, and the Prime had never argued against it. Not until now, and in the following few weeks Megatron had come to admit to himself he had lost some of his footing during the argument. He had listened to Orion going on and on about peaceful solutions and slow change from inside the institutionalized power structures and campaigning against the old beliefs, yet he had still held on to the image that Orion had betrayed him by leaving his side and forming the Autobots. 

And by becoming a Prime, of course. That was Megatron's dream, coming true to his friend. How was that not betrayal?

_“Ever since we first spoke I wanted to get to know you.”_

Megatron flinched at the memory. Optimus really had dealt the finishing blow with that, and Megatron almost wished that had been an actual strike with a sword so he wouldn't have to keep on living and sit here thinking about that. His favorite enemy, his worthy opponent whom he had chased across the stars, after all their magnificent and bitter battles that was the blow that really sank the deepest through his armor? Primus must be laughing. 

And after that, gentle words, a servo reaching out to him, an offering of friendship... Just how bold Optimus was really? There was the fury Megatron had nursed through the war. He felt the familiar burn in the bottom of his spark chamber, unyielding and cruel, the same eternal flame that had always carried him through the bloodiest, most chaotic battlefields light as a feather and straight to Optimus who always, always was waiting for him. 

Megatron had to look away from Optimus then. He rubbed his forehelm like he could coax the thoughts out of his processor. It didn't work, and not even looking away from Optimus made the flame tormenting his spark die down. It was a long, long flight.

 

The main airport in Kaon was outside the city, and when they finally arrived there they were escorted to the railway station built almost as an extension to the airport, where a train would take them to the city. Megatron could see and feel the Kaonian spirit alive and well in the large bots and the heavy cargo being hauled around the station, but it had a new shell to dwell in: The station was new and clean and free of graffiti, garbage and all and any signs of fights. The train that arrived was heavy and had many cars for industrial containers and several for passengers, but all of those were shiny and new. A completely clean, barely used industry-class vehicle was a strange sight. 

One other thing Megatron had predicted right: This was as far as the guards would come. The Captain of the unit stepped forward and announced it with strict instructions on the side:

“We won't escort you into the city, there you may roam freely for a period of time. This is due to the restlessness of the said city, and the Council has ruled that our presence would agitate them further. But you are to return to this station before tomorrow morning's ninth cycle. Being late will be treated as an attempted escape, and it will lead to disciplinary actions. Certain rules also stand while you're in the city: You are to not express any sort of official opinions about or towards political movements, you will not falsely act using the Council's authority, make contact with criminal activity knowingly or unknowingly, and you will not consume high-grade energon or narcotics. Courtesy of Council Member Ratbat.”

Megatron snorted and rolled his optics and let Optimus take care of the pleasantries with the guards, and then just the two of them boarded the train. 

There weren't enough seats for them so they opted to stand. Their trip had taken time, and it was already afternoon, and the train was full of workers returning to Kaon, most likely from Tarn, Blaster City and some possibly even further. Megatron recognized mining equipment and protective armor many of the larger bots were either carrying or wearing although they were cleaner than he recalled his had been, and the train car didn't reek of sulfur dioxide like in his memory. He turned his optics back to Optimus and to his surprise realized he didn't stand out all that much with his battle-worn paintjob with scratches and faded colours, and since around this part of the planet bots were on average larger than elsewhere both of them could blend into the crowd. 

Optimus calmly let Megatron inspect him, but after a while tilted his helm to the side.  
“Something wrong?” he asked.

Megatron frowned. “No. Why would there be? Are you worried?”

Optimus considered the question for a klik, and Megatron had to hand it to him for not jumping to outright deny everything. “I don't think so. Echo reported about the protests quite dramatically, but Kaon Awoke took a much calmer approach, surprisingly. I think we have minimized the risks by not making too much of a scene, and since you're here and the guards are not, I think we should be fine.” 

Megatron snorted in his vents. “They better stay at the airport, too. You think a proud people like Kaonians would let the Council turn their city into a circus without putting up a fight?”

Optimus gave him a sharp look. “Do you intend to make a habit of underestimating me? You never did that in battle, so why now in civilian life?”

The borderline accusing tone took Megatron by surprise and he eyed Optimus from helm to toe struts before replying: “Simply pointing out facts, Optimus.”

“With accusations on the side,” Optimus said with a quirk of an optic ridge. “Remember, we are here together for our own sake, not the Council's. Although I don't intend to lie to myself and say there are no risks, I believe the way we are going about this visit will be satisfactory even to those originally against this. After all, we are just visiting your home, not making a, hm, _circus_ out of this proud city.”

Megatron smirked. He liked this almost rebellious side of Optimus that had started to come out after they had stopped yelling at each other. “And you think you'll be alright here, Iaconian?” he teased.

Optimus gave him a brief smile. “I was before, and I am in the same company this time as well, so why wouldn't I be?”

Megatron didn't have an answer, nor did he have will to argue that point; it was true after all. Besides, it lit a vaguely familiar burn in the bottom of his spark chamber, and he was perfectly content to have it there and focus on the rest of the journey: They were close. 

Much had changed as was evident in the way the airport was organized, its security, the new and clean trains and the lack of chemical odors, but Kaon's central railway station was exactly like Megatron recalled it. 

They stepped out of the train and walked along with the crowd, but the powerful deja vu forced Megatron to still on the platform, and Optimus stopped beside him. It shouldn't have been possible for the station to be like this since it had been heavily damaged in air raids during the war and his own troops had remodeled it when they had had a post located there, but here they were anyway.

The platform was made out of stone that was the same type and colour as it had been before, the metal arches supporting a glass ceiling above the platforms was there, and the ceiling had been remade with dozens and dozens heavy squares of recycled glass. The result was a multitude of colours ranging from perfectly clear to cloudy and from dark to lighter colours littered with green and blue shards of bottle glass. Megatron marveled at the ceiling for a good while and almost forgot he wasn't by himself until he lowered his gaze back down and saw Optimus standing next to him, a curious gaze in his optics and his faceplate and frame freckled with colourful spots of light that rained in through the ceiling. Optimus had his helm tilted back so he could look the taller mech in the optic in the same manner he did when something was interesting to him, his pose was strict but his shoulders were relaxed, his servos innocently behind his back and his blue optics bright and kind. 

A wave of nostalgia washed over Megatron. He felt like he was standing inside of a memory. In a way, he realized a klik later, he sort of was since this city, this station, this very platform bathing under the coloured sun light, was where he had met Orion Pax for the first time and it was all right here. 

Optimus smiled at him. “Shall we go, then?”

Megatron shook himself awake from the past and back to the present. “Impatient, are we? We have all night,” he said but started to walk anyway, heading to a familiar direction. He expected Optimus to make his preferences known or say something at least but he didn't, just joined him on his side and fit the pace of his steps to his. The nostalgic feeling was back, and Megatron doubted he could shake it despite his prominent self-discipline. 

Kaon had been reborn. As the Decepticon capital it had been bombed like any other important target, but it had been located so deep inside the Decepticon-controlled territory that it had avoided being completely run down. The factories had been tactically important targets and as such taken the worst damage, but a lot of the inner districts of the city had gotten off with less. Most of the buildings were still more or less there, and the streets had been cleared of the rubble, and even with the ruins in the mix the city felt like itself. Kaon had always been a patchwork, always enlarging every which way, a new block here, another next to it with its corner towards another one's side, and a century later a third one growing to its side as an extension. There were state-funded building projects housing factory workers in small single apartments and next to those there were blocks of tall buildings for private companies with large windows and shiny, guarded lobbies. There were buildings with their sides so filled with billboards and neon light signs that the windows behind them were practically invisible, and in the midst of all that there were districts with low, self-made houses with sheet metal roofs, and all this was knitted together with a messy network of streets and roads. 

Because of this chaotic road systems nearly every corner was full of traffic signs guiding a wayward traveler to whatever direction. At each crossing at least five or six signs pointed to each direction, and most of them had arrows guiding the next two or three turns towards the destination. These signs were necessary for anyone who hadn't lived in the area for a long time, and thus the only absolute unwritten rule among Kaonians was to never lay a servo on a traffic sign. 

This was all very familiar to Megatron, but still he felt strange the moment they hit the streets, and the more they walked the stranger he felt. He put the feeling down to the mix of very old and entirely new since he hadn't been to his home city in a long while, not to mention seen it during peace, but here it still was almost exactly as he remembered it.

Dusk was slowly falling on Kaon, the last of the orange sunlight giving way to the deep purple and blue night, and as they walked down the streets the city's neon lights were being lit all around them. Billboards, signs of establishments, advertisement here and there, street lights, decorative strings of lights on windows and gateways, all shining and some blinking and flickering. Here night-fall was just the second morning of the solar cycle.

The crowd was different from Iacon as well. Kaonians had migrated back home, and among them were many large industrial-grade bots who had worked in mines and factories and early stages of material processing, and thus the average Kaonian was bigger than the average Iaconian, and Optimus and Megatron blended to the general population. Megatron was pleased, he much preferred to be like any other bot on the streets. No one looked at them twice, and Optimus stuck close to his side so he wouldn't be lost to the crowd. 

“Is this like the first time?” Megatron called over his shoulder when they pushed through a narrow alley to a wider main street that wormed through the whole district. A large billboard just above them advertising hand-made custom plating threw its blue and pink light down, shining on Optimus face and gleaming in his blue optics, and Megatron felt his spark jump under their gaze. 

“Yes,” Optimus said with a soft smile, “exactly like back then.” 

For a moment Megatron walked without looking forward just so he could hold Optimus' gaze longer. The feeling like he was inside a dream was suddenly back, stronger than before and like intoxication impossible to just shake off. His mind was swimming, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

“Where shall we go?” he asked, turning to look forward again. A tram drove past them, its noise from the tracks threatening to interrupt them. Optimus pressed closer to his side, pushed by the passing bots and tried to speak over the noise: “This is your city, so you decide!” 

Megatron felt a bit smug when he smiled down at his companion. “Very well, then. Don't get lost.” 

He took a direction towards the east side, one of the main cores of the city he knew well. They walked together along the wide main street, then took a turn down a little bit narrower one. Many of the tall buildings still stood, but some had been remodeled and had new facades, new windows and different signs and lights. They passed a few stark reminders of the war: buildings that had suffered from bombings and hadn't been fixed yet. Those still stood like husks of grand creatures with their stony guts spilled on the streets, and the traffic had to adapt to the piles of rubble and junk on the way. 

The Pit Bar was still where Megatron had left it. The dark stone and metal building that had the flashiness of a private property to its design had suffered very little, and a large, flashing neon sign guided the potential customers through a gateway to a courtyard. The sign flashing the words “Pit Bar” with energon blue and rust red and underneath those “energon on tap and for spilling” had crossed swords on it, and the outlines of the blades flowed through colours: from metal to bright blue and back. 

Megatron grabbed Optimus by the wrist when they came to the courtyard and pulled him through the double doors inside the bar. The space had been redecorated but the atmosphere was the same: it was still grandiose and lit with sharp neon lights, and a staircase that led to the cellar floor was still marked with bright blue arrows, guiding the curious and hungry customers down to a Pit.  
They didn't make it even to the bar before the first bot recognized Megatron.

“Do my optics deceive me or is it truly you? Megatron of Kaon?” yelled the mech, trying to speak over the noise and alert others. 

“Inferno,” Megatron recognized his old underling, “believe it now. I'm here as promised.” 

It seemed that the only way Inferno could react to that was with laughter, which he did while toasting up to Megatron. They were rapidly gaining attention, which in itself wasn't much of a surprise, but the shift in the mood was impressive none the less. Bots started to gather nearer to them, individual conversations dying down and turning their focus to them, and as Megatron let his gaze to circle the bar he saw many eager and curious optics, some reserved yet respectful expressions and a few who were shying away or taking a subtle leave. The crowd swelled, and more familiar faces joined Inferno. Despite the rush and almost overwhelming presence of so many sparkling EM fields, Optimus' presence didn't fade from his side. Megatron reached behind him without looking and grasped a familiar wrist before starting to make his way through the crowd towards the bar, and the attention followed them. 

Megatron didn't know either of the bots manning the bar but they obviously knew him, and they had a cube of high-grade for both of them ready by the time they reached the bar, and the one nearest to them eagerly pushed the cubes forth without asking for payment. “Your credit is alright here,” the bartender said to Megatron. 

Megatron took the cube, pushed the other one towards Optimus, and turned his flank to the bar so he could talk to the bots surrounding him. He felt remarkably at ease now that he was surrounded by bots that were either his size or larger and clearly cut for heavy and hard work like he was. Wherever he turned he saw miners, industrial workers and warframes, all with minimalistic paintjobs, maybe with only decorative stripes or biolights on otherwise gunmetal gray metal, and even though maybe only a third still wore a Decepticon shield, he knew he was among friends. 

A familiar, bulky flyer femme pushed through the crowd and positively beamed up at Megatron. “I greet you, my Lord!” Crystalrush said and toasted her own cube. “I must confess, I didn't believe the higher-ups would let you return here!”

Megatron chuckled. “At first neither did I, but in the end the Council didn't dare to stop me. The fear we put in them is still intact!”

A roaring laughter went through the crowd in a wave as the sweetness of victory over authority egged them on. Toasts were made and cubes were empties, and the bartenders became suddenly very busy. 

Megatron glanced at his side at Optimus who was swirling his sparkling pink high-grade in its cube and calmly observing the crowd. His warframe and battered paint made him blend into the mass, and him being on the shorter side of the population completed the job. Megatron felt pleased to see Optimus on defense and covering by his side. 

“It is true, then? The High Council wanted to stop you from returning to Kaon and seeing what it's really like here?” Crystalrush demanded, suddenly sharp. Others around her nodded in agreement and shared the defiant aura.

Megatron was slightly taken aback by the surprise and hurt they showed – to him the reluctance to let him back to his home territory had been obvious and inevitable – but he didn't let it show. “Obviously. There are many conservative and functionalist voices in the Council today, and we are out of their control here. Have you ever met an upper class bot who wouldn't like to keep those stronger than them under their control?” 

Some laughed, some nodded and made agreeing noises. Inferno pushed through as well, and now he had another mech on his arm; his conjunx Mayday had apparently only just arrived since he took a long, disbelieving look at Megatron. 

“You weren't allowed to come without a guardian, though,” Inferno cut in, nodding towards Optimus.

There was a shift in the mood, like a klik ago everyone had collectively pretended the Prime wasn't there but now that one comment had forced him into existence. Megatron turned to Optimus again. He was in the middle of taking a careful sip out of his cube but didn't look at all bothered by suddenly being the focus of the room. 

“That's part of the Council's plan. What they get out of letting us out of the tower is publicity, so here we are,” Megatron said, and after a klik added: “Prime is here on behalf of himself and his people. Those are not necessarily the same thing as the Council's interests.”

The majority of their company accepted the reasoning, but Crystalrush frowned deeply. Not that it was all that surprising – a Blue-Flamer had to resent all that was not Decepticon in order to do their job – but Megatron took a note of it anyway. 

Optimus lowered his cube and spoke: “I am here because I want to be. We came here together, and I need to see how things truly are, not take anyone else's word for it.” 

Megatron almost smiled. He was suddenly reminded of the young Orion Pax's confidence that back then was founded on absolutely nothing, and he could tell some were reluctantly impressed by Optimus even now. 

Suddenly a thought dawned to Megatron: Optimus was nothing like one would expect. 

Of course he was obvious in everything he thought and did _to Megatron_ since they had known each other for such a long period of time and seen each other evolve and change during it, but to someone who had constructed a picture of Optimus by putting together bits and pieces of hearsay and expectations that picture's resemblance to the truth was probably nonexistent. In legends Primes were depicted as the next thing from Primus, absolute and pure like the finest steel, and in the battlefield Optimus was truly a force of nature. And not only that, but he was originally from Iacon, a place that had been completely out of reach for Kaonians under the previous ruling class, but what was known to be a place of clean streets and bots wielding power based on their status alone.

Optimus was a warframe but lighter on the armoring than the standard, and right now he was casually leaning on the bar counter next to Megatron, looking almost small. He was calm and quietly observed the room without a care in the world, and instead of the Star Saber or an ion blaster he should have been holding a pad and taking down notes or reading or something like that. He might have had a reputation and definitely a side that was the stuff of the legends, but he was not a legend himself. 

Along the same thought-process Megatron realized that in a way he knew Optimus better than anyone aside from maybe the medic, but definitely better than anyone present in this bar. To him, Optimus was real. A sudden rush of possessiveness went through him.

The bots closest to them took a good second look at Optimus and measured him up properly. Mentioning him had put the focus on him and so it was now meaningless to fake discretion, and since Inferno and Crystalrush stood the closest they showed their attention most openly.

“So the divine Prime decided to lower himself to our level, “Crystalrush mused but with an undercurrent of accusation. Some bots close enough to hear snorted and chuckled.

Optimus faced the flyer neutrally. “This isn't my first time in Kaon, actually,” he said. 

Megatron peered at the crowd over the rim of his cube while he drank and was pleased to see open surprise in the optics of the spectators. Apparently the stories about the war had long ago overwritten all mundane gossip, and things like the early stages of their rebel movement had been forgotten – or just enough bots involved had offlined. Probably both. 

“When have you been to Kaon?!” asked someone in disbelief. 

Megatron failed to spot the bot who had asked but he did see many intrigued ones expecting an answer, so he turned a little bit more towards Optimus so he could keep an optic on him better.

The Prime set his cube on the counter between them before he answered: “I spoke against the caste system before the rebellion and before the war, and I had a friend who was Kaonian. He invited me here, so I asked a favor from a friend of mine whose caste was above mine and he got me a travel pass and escorted me here.” 

“A friend?” Crystalrush repeated, still suspicious. “What did this 'friend' of yours do? What was his designation?”

Megatron turned to look at Optimus, curious to hear his answer since Crystalrush – and possibly many others – hadn't put the pieces of the purposefully vague story together. He was amused. 

“My friend was of a low working class, and so his designation was just a serial number. By the time I came to know him he had left his former profession and was a gladiator in the Pits of Kaon,” Optimus replied. 

The mentioning of the Pits and the gladiators made the mood shift once again, this time into elevated and loud direction. The focus on Megatron and Optimus broke as the topic shifted into the glorious memories of the gladiatorial game tournaments and the champions, and suddenly every other bot in the bar recalled having personally known or at least met with a gladiator who had fought in the Pits. 

Inferno raised his voice. “I recall facing you in the Pit, Megatron!” he declared, and a new circle of curious crowd formed around them.

Megatron laughed. “I recall you as well, Inferno! You were lucky that cycle since the match was only to the first energon drawn, not until termination.” 

Inferno grinned impishly. “I agree with you, Megatron. But I have battled the Champion of Kaon, and you can be sure I will pride myself on that for a long time.”

“You do that,” Megatron chuckled and emptied his cube. He turned to the bartender to order a second one but before he had the opportunity to do anything more than to open his intake, a new cube was already pushed to his servos. 

Behind the bar three new barrels had just been brought out from the back, and the second bartender was in process of opening them so the high-grade could keep flowing. Credit chips were tossed on and behind the counter and bots banged their empty cubes on the counter. 

Megatron chuckled to himself and turned to Optimus, who was still carefully working on his first cube and keeping mostly to himself. “Well?” he asked.

Optimus raised his optic ridges. “Well, what?”

“Is this what you were expecting?” Megatron specified, speaking over his cube. The noise level of the bar was raising with the tales told, and one group somewhere in the crowd had started to sing to a bass-heavy melody someone was playing from their banks, so Megatron leaned on his elbow on the bar so he was closer to Optimus. 

Optimus gave him a small smile and shrugged. “I didn't expect any riots, so yes. But about you, I'm not so sure. You have a tendency to surprise me so I don't know what I expected.” 

It was Megatron's turn to raise his optic ridges. “So I surprised you? Even though we know each other so well.”

Optimus tilted his helm. “Do we?”

Megatron stared him down. “Don't we?”

Their moment was broken when Inferno's conjunx Mayday suddenly approached them. “I wonder if the Champion of Kaon is still capable of defending the title,” he said too loudly to mean for just Megatron to hear him, and several curious gazes turned to him. 

“Is that a challenge?” Megatron asked with a toothy smile. 

“It could be,” Mayday said, now clearly to the crowd, “this is the Pit Bar after all!” Now the crowd cheered, and the tone was something that Megatron remembered very well. He felt familiar competitiveness and the thirst for victory as well as excitement, but for battle rage he waited for nothing. Perhaps it was too early for that. 

“I will defend my title as the one and only Champion against _anyone_!” Megatron declared to the whole bar and got a responding roar. 

One of the bartenders hoisted himself on the counter and yelled over the noise: “The downstairs Pit is free to use, but no weapons are allowed down there! Every bot is responsible for themselves and you accept this by taking those stairs down! Let's nobody offline tonight!”

This seemed to be clear to everyone, and a sizable portion of the crowd started to shift towards the staircase, some after stopping to order more high-grade before they went, and Megatron moved to follow, but a strong servo on his arm stopped him. 

He turned to look at Optimus who had abandoned his cube and held him back from the stairs to the Pit.

“You're not armed,” Optimus said with a low voice.

“Weapons are not allowed, it's strictly hand-to-hand combat,” Megatron answered. 

“And what if someone doesn't care for the rules and you face a sore loser?”

Megatron's smile twisted into a lopsided one. “That has happened before. I can handle it, so don't you worry about me.”

Optimus' blue optics bore into his for a few kliks longer, but then he let his servo slip away from his arm and he followed Megatron down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho. And that was just the first half. I hope you enjoyed that, I'll try and hurry with the second half for the sake of the story structure. And you of course.
> 
> If you liked this you can leave kudos, or leave a comment telling me your thoughts and feelings and/or concrit if you feel like it. Anything goes!
> 
> Friendly reminder that you can also talk to me on [tumblr](http://zombieheroine.tumblr.com/).


	25. The Pit Spawn and the Librarian (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohoho guess what time it is?? Update time! (But you already knew that.)
> 
> Thank you for all your wonderful comments and kudos and likes/reblogs on tumblr. Here's the second part! Please enjoy.

The neon lights in the shape of arrows were red and blue, and the same colour scheme was present in the cellar floor. Colourful fluorescent lamps decorated the ceiling and threads and strings of neon lights covered the walls, bathing the cellar in blue and red and purple light while making the shadows that much darker. There were no tables or stools in there, just a square arena in the middle of the room, lined with bricks to clearly separate it from the rest of the floor and filled with glittering black sand. 

Everything was exactly like it had been a million stellar cycles ago, and Megatron realized this wasn't just the nostalgia speaking either: the bar itself might have been rebuilt, but the cellar had been spared. This room had existed in the world before the war and it was still here, a time-capsule of sorts, still present in this new world, and of course the arena and that familiar, sparkling black sand were there waiting for him. They reminded Megatron of times he had had a clear purpose in his existence, and he both longed for and hated it at the same time. 

There were quite a few bots eager to test their skills on the sand, some of them seasoned soldiers like Inferno and some were put on the spot by the group they were with, but in any case there was an eager, blood-thirsty audience and several willing fighters lining up by the ring. The crowd was rallying to get into the spirit, and one particularly large group had bought a small barrel of high-grade and brought it with them, and they cracked it open and sizzling of fresh high-grade added to the noise.

Megatron turned to Optimus, who was right behind him and had his arms crossed across his chassis in a guarded display, but looking surprisingly not disapproving but rather curious. Megatron felt a surge of confidence and smirked down at him. “Do you want to bet on a winner?” 

Optimus chuckled. “No, I do not. I would be a fool to bet against you, and I don't think I endorse this enough to put credits in for you either. But if you're up for a challenge...”

Megatron leaned down, eager to hear the rest. “Have you ever known me to turn down a challenge?”

There was a glimmer in Optimus' optics when he shrugged, then thought about it for a moment. “Then I make you a personal bet,” he said. “Don't hit anyone who steps in the ring with you, but win anyway.”

Megatron raised an optic ridge. “You're on.” 

The gnawing nostalgic feeling was back in full force when Megatron set his pede down on the black sand of the Pit. He recalled a memory from his youth, a time when he had still knows fear. He recalled the first time he had thrown himself into the Pit and fought a match until termination, and he recalled the dozens, the hundreds, the thousands matches just like it that had come after that. The sand was still the same, he was not. 

His first opponent was Inferno, a gladiator brother and a former loyal Decepticon general of his, and thus it was about to be a proper fight. Inferno's conjunx walked him right to the edge of the ring and gave him a good luck kiss.   
Megatron glanced over his shoulder to see where Optimus was and what he was doing and found him right where he had left him, one arm across his chassis and another one propped up against it with his digits lightly resting on his chin. His optics followed him, and his posture was slightly tense but mostly he looked intrigued. 

Another memory file surfaced. Megatron recalled how they had done this the first time in the largest arena of Kaon, the Pit where champions fought and fell. Megatron had dragged Orion Pax with him under the bridges and through the catacombs to show him where he was from and how he lived, and for the final touch ensured him a seat in the front row to witness when he went to battle in the Pit. Young Orion had tried to steel himself, but when Megatron had glanced in the audience and pointed his sword at him he could read worry and terror clear on his faceplate. The librarian had been shocked but stared right into the true face of Kaon anyway. 

Optimus was much calmer this time around, and Megatron had no intentions to lose their private little bet. When Inferno charged at him Megatron didn't go for his signature tactics and pound through his defenses to strike him down right a way, but grasped the servo trying to hit him and pulled it up, hooked his pede under Inferno's shin and kicked, effectively sweeping the mech off of his pedes and sent him rolling in the sand. Their audience gasped and cheered at the sudden burst of action egging them on and shouting instructions, but Megatron gave Inferno time to get back on his pedes and try again. Behind his opponent he could see Optimus, who was covering his smile with the tips of his digits.

Inferno didn't charge again but carefully circled and measured Megatron, who realized his strength had just been tested. He hadn't ever minded tricks like that since he knew no amount of tricking and testing would make him any weaker, but the next attack would probably be nothing like the first and he needed to be prepared. He circled Inferno as well, dropped his point of gravity and started to slowly wind the circle shut, trying to force his opponent to make the first move. He didn't have to wait for long, because as soon as they turned so that Optimus was just about to slip out of Megatron's field of vision Inferno charged fast and low, aiming for Megatron's pedes. 

Megatron's left pede was kicked from under him and he was painfully reminded how as a former gladiator brother and a veteran Decepticon Inferno probably had an inkling just how divided Megatron's attention was between the fight and a certain audience member. He fell on his knee and decided to go with the flow, so when Inferno was aiming another kick directly to his faceplate he was ready and locked the other mech's leg in a tight hold under his arm and threw himself backwards along the momentum of Inferno's kick only sped up by his own mass. The movement sent them both rolling on the ground, and Megatron kept the movement going, spinning them around in the sand until he got his crushing weight on his opponent. 

There was no escape for Inferno there, and it soon became clear that the match was over. The crowd whistled and applauded, and Megatron let his opponent up. 

Inferno spat out a mouthful of sand, stood and and met Megatron's gaze. “To think you didn't even hit me.”

“Be glad we're not crossing swords,” Megatron chuckled. 

“I am.” 

And with that, Inferno walked out of the ring and back to his conjunx, who had taken a round of bets and was now collecting and handing out the spoils. The crowd parted when the fighter was allowed out of the ring, and the lined up challengers eyed each other, silently arguing who would go in next. 

“One opponent was too easy, I'll take on two next!” Megatron declared, cracking his joints and measuring his would-be opponents with his gaze. 

Some commotion and swift murmured arguing happened in the line, and then two bots of the same friend group stepped over the edge to the sand. Megatron smirked at them both and crouched down to get ready to go again. 

In total, Megatron fought seven battles until he finally grew tired of them. He stepped out of the ring undefeated and with the familiar feeling of black sand grinding in the joints of his pedes and in the seams of his plating, and an entirely new pair took to the sands next. Megatron was quite content with himself; a fighter was a large part of who he was, and the knowledge that having been cooped up first inside a cell and then within four walls for almost two stellar cycles hadn't dulled his blade in the slightest felt like he had won a round against the Council. 

“It would look like I was able to meet your standards,” Megatron said to Optimus as soon as he was within hearing distance of him again. 

“So it would seem,” Optimus admitted. “Not that it's all that surprising, but count me impressed anyway.” 

“By what? That I don't need to separate my opponent's helm from their frame in order to win?”

“Well... Can you blame me?”

Megatron could have, but Optimus was still wearing that almost smile of his and the tone of his voice was softly teasing, and suddenly Megatron didn't feel like arguing anything with him. 

Inferno pushed through the crowd to them to give his greetings to Megatron. “This has turned out to be a very nostalgic night,” he said, addressing both of them but turning back to Megatron like he was the one he really wanted to the speak to. “I'm sure the word of this will carry out to Tarn and Blaster City as well. All will know that the current government can't keep Megatron out of his home.”

Megatron nodded in approval. “That is good. I am still here, I still function and I have not given up. And neither should anyone else who once followed me.” Megatron couldn't stop himself from quickly seeing what Optimus thought of this exchange, and was somewhat relieved to see his smile hadn't dropped even if his optics had regained their sharp look. 

Inferno glanced between them too. “May Primus give you strength and bravery to do what needs to be done, then,” he cryptically said. “Do better than me, at least. My excuse of a conjunx bet against me.” 

Megatron laughed through his dentae at that. “Thank you for your good will. But I'm not a follower of Primus. All my strength comes from within myself.” 

Inferno frowned at that. “You're not Primusian, then?” 

Megatron narrowed his optics. “I've never had use for gods.”

“I see,” Inferno said, nodded, and finished the exchange quickly after that. Megatron watched him go, then turned to Optimus who had been quietly observing them the whole time, and now had a curious look in his optics.

“What?” Megatron asked.

“Nothing,” Optimus replied, his optics searching the other mech's faceplate for something. “Where shall we go now?”

They left the Pit Bar and went back to the streets, and Megatron had to admit he had no idea where they should go next or what they should do, so they simply walked. Kaon's night life was as vibrant as ever, and as the midnight had come and passed there were more bots outside than at any other time of the solar cycle. The sky was dark but the light from thousands of lanterns on strings, neon signs and electric billboards drowned the streets. 

The rush hour left them with very little room as they walked down the street, and Optimus walked almost as if attached to Megatron's side. To Megatron it felt like the past had morphed together with the present: He hadn't ever imagined they could be like this again. 

Suddenly an idea struck, and Megatron took Optimus by the arm. “I know where we should go. Come.”

Optimus didn't offer any argument but followed. Even if most of the streets were still where they had been before, some changes had been made and it took Megatron a few tries to find an open gateway to the subsurface levels of the city. 

Some of the subway tunnels and tracks had been fixed and were operating already, but instead of those Megatron led Optimus to the tunnels for pedestrians. The crowd was looser underground, but there were lounges, arcades and theaters there as well so they weren't exactly empty either. When they took another flight of stairs downwards and deeper into the tunnels Megatron noticed how the catacombs there had been made anew: now they were well lit, the floors were smooth and maintained with no trace of cracks of loose stones, and the walls were decorated with street art. Some businesses had even bought advertisement space down there, which was something Megatron had never seen before. Apparently the old underworld had vanished and become a part of general public for good. 

He walked a route he knew better than his own base code, and gradually the crowd shrunk into a few odd by-passers, and after a maybe a few miles of walking they finally ran into a poorly sealed doorway. 

Optimus hadn't complained or even questioned Megatron the entire time they had walked there, but now that they were stopped by the wide gateway and he could read the old signs above it, he looked suspicious. 

“What are we doing here? And please don't tell me you're about to break in.”

Megatron smirked. “I can't break into a place that is technically mine,” he said and started to tear his way through the hastily welded sheet metal. 

Optimus shuffled on his pedes in a manner that looked awfully lot like anxiety, but didn't argue as Megatron clawed his way through the welding. 

The sheet metal had been in place for a long time and it was brittle with rust, and his claws tore right through it and the metal broke into crumbs, staining his digits with rust. When the way was clear, Megatron leaned into the tunnel behind the gateway to check its condition. It was dark in there, but he could see clearly enough to tell that the walls and the ceiling were as intact as the way behind them. The catacombs ran deep underneath Kaon, and it would seem that the vast majority of them had also been deep enough to be unaffected by the bombings. There were not even loose rocks or pieces of bricks on the floor, only sand and dust. 

Megatron was satisfied, turned to Optimus and beckoned him closer. “Come on. This way leads back up.”

Optimus nodded and followed him as they stepped into the tunnel. It was wide enough for them to walk side by side without difficulties, and even though it was dark at first the amount of light started to steadily increase when the floor tilted upwards and they started to climb. As they climbed, the tunnel started to change: It crew even wider, and the steel floor had more and more sand on it, and finally the floor leveled again and they stepped out of the tunnel and into a room. 

This was a familiar place, Megatron felt it immediately. He stopped and looked around him. It had changed from the place of his earlier memories since it had apparently been a base during the War for Cybertron: There were a few tables against one wall, and next to those were piles of junk and scrap metal so rusty that they must have been there for a million stellar cycles. The room was large and seemed even more so with all the furniture – medical berths, to be exact – broken and pushed aside, lining the wall. There were empty shell cases, laser clips and plasma tanks scattered everywhere, and they crunched under their heavy pedes when they walked across the room. There were so many of them that it was futile to even attempt to not to step on them. 

Optimus didn't say anything but the air around him shifted, and Megatron sensed that he too had realized what this room had been. 

“Come on, let's get to the good part,” Megatron said, a bit impatient, and headed to one of the three exits on the opposite wall. Optimus followed.

The middle doorway led them into a short hallway that rose up abruptly to an arched gateway that had once been shut with a heavy iron crossbar gate that had been blown to bits and its remnants rusted in their hinges. Beyond the gate there was light that felt almost too bright after the darkness of the catacombs, and bathing in that light a large open field. 

Megatron stepped through the gateway with Optimus right behind him, and together they walked upon a large, circle shaped arena covered in black, glimmering sand. 

They walked away from the gateway and the high walls surrounding the arena and towards the middle, and Megatron quickly spun around to see what Optimus thought about this place. The sight was priceless: Optimus walked with slow, swinging steps with his helm tilted backwards and turning here and there as he tried to see everything at once. Megatron grinned.

Even though empty save for the two of them, the Pit was a sight to behold. The stands for the audience rose like giant steps all around and the ceiling arched like the sky above them, as high as in the grandest temple. It had once been glass and given a view to the surface, but now it was covered with a tarpaulin, and only a little bit of the lights of the city seeped in from the edges. 

After a klikcycle of turning and ogling, Optimus finally turned his gaze back to Megatron. “You brought me to the Pit?”

Megatron spread his arms, a confident smirk on his faceplate. A small voice in the back of his processor blamed the high-grade for the dramatics. “Yes. This is the place where I was truly made into what I am. This is the spark, the very core of Kaon, and here I got my name.”

Optimus hummed. “I remember this place,” he said.

“I wouldn't forgive you if you had forgotten.”

Optimus gave him a curious look with his helm tilted, studied him for a moment and then turned to look at the audience stands. “I don't recall where I sat, though.” 

Megatron pointed at the left side of the gateway they had entered. “You sat right there, in the second row.”

This time the look Optimus gave him was openly surprised. “You can't possible remember that,” he claimed, but the ever so slight awe in his tone gave away that he believe him despite what he said. 

“I got you the seat. One of the best seats, and it's right there in my corner. Trust me, I remember it very well,” Megatron replied, still pointing.

There was no argument from Optimus, just another curious, piercing look. Piercing, and yet his blue optics were soft. Soft like they had been in his youth when he had looked up to Megatron, eager to get to know him, and even now he nailed him on the spot with those optics and kept him there as if the time had stopped.

The strange burn Megatron had slowly come to accept as something inevitable Optimus lit to blacken the bottom of his spark chamber was back. 

When the time started to move again their optic contact broke as Optimus tilted his helm back again. “It's a shame we can't look at the sky, though. I recall this place looking even bigger that way, and the night outside is beautiful.” 

“You couldn't see the stars from here anyway. Too much light pollution,” Megatron noted.

Optimus glanced at him from the corner of his optic and smiled. “I'd take the neon lights over the stars.” 

Megatron had nothing to say to that. He dropped his gaze to the ground and took some time to really see the black sand under his pedes again. It was strange to be back here like this, in his past, in a place that was more truly the place of his birth than the Well of Allsparks could ever be, but now almost unrecognizable void of roaring spectators hungry for violence and termination, covered up and made private. It was at peace. And when he lifted his gaze to the mech with him he thought that for a moment he was looking through time, seeing Orion and Optimus existing simultaneously and as one being, young and old, innocent and a warrior, a little librarian and a war machine, the two ends of one spectrum. 

“You know... I've been thinking about what you said on the other solar cycle,” Megatron suddenly said. He hadn't made the decision to speak his mind, instead some deeper part of himself came out of the shadows and seized the moment. 

Optimus turned fully to him, optic ridges arched and his expression expectant. 

Megatron went on: “You asked me if I ever really listened to you and your ideas and did I ever see you for what you were.”

Optimus' expression turned into a serious one, but his optics were wide open. He was listening, but not reservedly like usual. 

“The truth is,” Megatron said, frowning to himself as he spoke without a plan, “I did. I did listen to you. I heard what you said and what you thought. I knew you were ready to do anything to stop anyone from being hurt. The problem with us then was that even though I knew all of that about you, I never really believed you would leave me.” 

Optimus' optics were gentle and a little bit sad as he looked into Megatron's. Megatron tilted his chin up and returned the gaze, unblinking and refusing to back out. He had said what he had wanted to say.

“We should be getting back,” Optimus said, very gently and very softly. 

 

They traveled to the train station in silence, and once they arrived there the morning rush was just beginning. The first moment there was full of harmony, the morning sun shining through the windows, bots on their way to their jobs or home from their jobs, and the large space shimmered with hundreds of EM fields. But the harmony lasted only for that one moment, and when it passed Optimus and Megatron both realized something was terribly wrong. 

Instead of moving the crowd stood still and was mostly quiet, only a constant murmur was audible and echoed in the station like white noise. It seemed that everyone on the station was packed near the ticket sales isle, all staring at something in silence. After a moment Optimus realized they were looking at the screens above the ticket windows and the news they were showing. On the screen something was burning and putting out thick, black smoke. Filtering through the noise of the crowd, Optimus finally managed to single out the news broadcaster's voice:

“ – update from the authorities have confirmed that this is not an accident, I repeat, not an accident. The fire was originated from explosives, and the press release from Iacon's Police Department has declared this incident an assassination attempt, though the motives and alignment of the attacker are still unclear. No casualties have been reported, but at least a dozen injured have been –“

Optimus' comm went off, and though he was surprised a signal came through at all, he answered it right a way: “Yes?”

“Optimus! Thank Primus!” Ratchet's panicked voice shouted, then sighed. “Have you heard of the attack?!”

“Just watching the news.”

“Then you know, oh Optimus, I'm so sorry we weren't able to do more – “

Optimus frowned at his friend's rambling. It sounded like there was a lot more going on that Optimus knew of, and that Ratchet perhaps knew more than the news anchor. “What do you mean?”

“The attack! You're lucky that you were not home! I swear it's Megatron's fault there's a target mark on your helm now!”

“Ratchet, calm down,” Optimus said calmly in his authoritative tone. He was itching to get more information, but was too experienced to feed into the panic with his own impatience. “Tell me what you know, calmly and in order, please.”

Ratchet took a deep invent of air at the other end of the line. The link was rattling slightly, most likely due to the traffic in Iacon messing with the signal. “The attack targeted the block you live in. It was a transportation vehicle with petrol barrels and explosives rigged together to blow. But it didn't work, the vehicle fell over and exploded on the street. Oh, Optimus, this isn't nowhere nearly over, and you're a sitting duck up in that apartment with that monster there – “

Ratchet started to slip into his worry and panic again, so Optimus interrupted him again: “Ratchet. Thank you for reporting in. But I already knew there's still unfinished business, and we have handled things like this before. We will get through this as well.”

Ratchet took several shaky breaths and sighed again. “Yes. Yes, of course, you're right,” he said, sounding more like himself. 

“Yes. We'll talk more when you come visit me, old friend,” Optimus said.

“Oh!” Ratchet said, clearly surprised and a tad bit pained. “Umm, about that...”

Optimus frowned again. “Is something wrong?”

“No! No but... I was supposed to tell you when you got back today, but this thing happened and – “

“Ratchet. What is it?” Optimus wanted to end the call already and try to get his servos on a news source, plus Megatron was starting to give him a questioning look, but there was clearly still something left unsaid.

“Optimus... Jazz has returned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well wasn't that sweet. :)  
> Such a simple, fun little chapter this one. :)
> 
> Recently a friend of mine refused to start reading my reaper76BB-fic before I publish at least 8/10 chapters of it, because according to her I love cliffhangers and angst. Pffft. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	26. True names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! Thank you for your continuing interest, all the kudos and all the comments as well as that one ask I got on Tumblr!
> 
> I'm so excited for this chapter you guys! Let's meet Jazz, shall we? :D I'd like to remind you that I derive his character from the Alex Irvine's novel Transformers: Exodus, and that novel is what I consider a prequel for Prime. I recommend it for you all, but this fic will stick to TFP as its hard canon. 
> 
> Jazz joins the gang here, and I updated the tag list a bit too. Please enjoy.

By the afternoon the news on every channel were full of Arc Flame and barely anything else. The whole front page and several first spreads of Iacon's Echo were just pictures of her, transcripts of her speech and summaries and quotes of the press conferences she had held, all only cycles after the attack attempt (as she called it, the representatives of the police were following her example) and all very effective. In front of the Hall of High Powers was a gathering in support of the Council and peace, and at the same time an anti-violence support rally and an improvised crisis support center were in full swing at the stairs of the main Temple of Primus. 

No news of casualties had been reported, so all in all, things were under control. 

That might have been enough to maintain order among the general public, but that was hardly enough to entirely convince some of the more recent veterans: A word had been put out by Ultra Magnus suggesting that Team Prime gather for an emergency meeting as soon as possible. First he got a hold of Arcee who promised to inform Smokescreen and Bumblebee, then he reached Ratchet who was currently at the Interstellar Port with a friend, and finally he reached a fairly distressed Bulkhead who had been let off work early because of the events in the morning. They were all to meet at Ultra Magnus' place as soon as they could make it.

Everything went smoothly and the meeting was organized quickly, but one minor surprise occurred right as Ultra Magnus was about to leave the office, when one very nervous additional member wanted to join their company. 

“Captain Override,” Ultra Magnus said when he spotted the familiar femme lingering by his office, “what brings me this honor?”

Override stood in attention but her fidgeting servos betrayed her restlessness. “You are about to meet with Team Prime, aren't you?”

Ultra Magnus didn't either deny or confirm out loud even though Override seemed very sure of her intel, but he allowed a minimal nod. 

“I'd like to join you, if you don't mind. With your permission and in full confidentiality, of course,” she said. 

Ultra Magnus weighed her trustworthiness. On one hand she was an accomplished and honorable Autobot officer – bonded to a Decepticon, yes, but he didn't count that as a negative factor – but on the other hand she was working closely with the Council. Both notions weighed much on the scale while also leaving a lot of room for doubt, but eventually it all boiled down to one simple question: was her word worth the trust. Ultra Magnus thought it was.

Before a cycle and a half had passed their team was mostly together again at the appointed place, save for Ratchet and Wheeljack. Arcee had arrived first, and Smokescreen and Bumblebee – both visibly shaken – only moments after her. Bulkhead had been last but clearly had made haste judging by the scent of burning tires and gas lingering on him and how shaky he appeared. 

As soon as the door closed behind Bulkhead Ultra Magnus ushered him in and said: “For now you're the last one of us arriving. Ratchet won't be here for a while, but where's Wheeljack?” 

“Ah – yes, sir, Jackie... Jackie won't be coming. He didn't pick up his commlink, and I don't know where he is,” Bulkhead said anxiously.

Arcee took a step towards them. “Is something wrong, Bulk?” she asked immediately.

“Oh, no no, I don't think so! It's just been a really bad day,” Bulkhead hurriedly answered. 

Arcee narrowed her optics briefly at him but let the matter be and returned to stand on her place next to the small couch Smokescreen and Bumblebee were sitting on. Ultra Magnus didn't see the purpose of derailing the main topic of the meeting by interrogating Bulkhead about Wheeljack, and so he gestured him from the door into the lounge of his two-room apartment. There weren't seats for everyone, but they hadn't needed those before. Ultra Magnus was not about to apologize needlessly, and no one complained anyway. 

“Let us begin, then,” Ultra Magnus said when they were all either standing or sitting in a loose circle. “We need to discuss the events of today.” 

“Yes, we're clearly not as out of the time of war as we thought we were,” Arcee said, crossing her arms. 

“Clearly. What was that supposed to be anyway? Attempt on what?” Smokescreen said, his servos nervously twisting and turning in his lap. He was sitting on the very edge of the couch, and his pede was tapping the floor. 

“I suggest we don't call it an attempt in the context of this discussion,” Ultra Magnus solemnly said, making the younger mechs frown and the older bots nod grimly in agreement. He specified: “As much as I admire Council Member Arc Flame's skills at crisis response, I think in order to take this seriously we need to talk about an attack. Yes, it didn't presumably reach its target since no one was terminated, but it was planned and executed, and we must assume the possibility there is an organized group behind it.”

“The tactic pattern seemed familiar,” Bulkhead grunted. “When the Wreckers used to ambush Decepticon supply convoys on roads, the Cons fought back with rigged transports just like that one.”

Smokescreen and Bumblebee exchanged a worried look and Arcee set a reassuring servo on the back of the couch. 

“There's no public information released about the driver or the transportation vehicle,” Ultra Magnus said. “No designation, nothing on the origins of the truck, no speculation on the target.”

“Target: known to all,” Bumblebee signaled a bit impatiently. 

“Bee's right,” Arcee said. “The target must have been the block where Optimus lives. There's nothing else that important anywhere near there!”

Ultra Magnus hummed thoughtfully, clasping his wrist with a servo behind his back out of an old habit. “We mustn't jump into too many conclusions. The collapsing and detonation might have been an accident.”

“Plus everyone knew Optimus wasn't even there this morning,” Bulkhead said, “he and Megatron were in Kaon, and no one drives a truck rigged to blow from Iacon to Kaon!”

“I'm not convinced,” Arcee stated, “this might have been a warning shot of sorts. That would mean this was not just an attempt either.”

A heavy silence fell in the room. The possibility felt very real and concrete at that moment, and that would mean more attacks, destabilizing the region further and adding the threat of violence. Before this morning war seemed to be so far behind them, and now its echo had caught up with them like thunder following a lightning. 

“So what do we do about it?” Arcee asked when no one else seemed to be keen on breaking the silence. 

“What can we do about it?” Bulkhead added, scratching the back of his helm. 

Ultra Magnus shrugged and crossed his arms. “Right now the best we can do is to lay low and assess the situation. Knowledge is power, so I suggest we investigate quietly and behind the scenes and contact Optimus as soon as possible.”

A conspiring, self-satisfied chuckle went through the room. 

“And possible: it is,” Bumblebee snickered and Smokescreen nodded eagerly by his side. Arcee beamed with mischievous pride. 

They had established a successful messaging system between them only a few solar cycles after Arcee had managed to gather the code Optimus had requested and delivered it to him with Bulkhead. Their private messages were sent on a channel that could be logged into only from Ultra Magnus' personal computer, so even though getting messages through was slower than they would have preferred, it still happened and they all trusted Optimus to keep the channel secure. If Optimus were to get any information, they would too, and vice versa. 

Then spoke a bot who until now had been quietly minding her own business in the corner: “If I may, I'd like to remind you all that we're no longer at war. You are all civilian and there's a limit to what you may and may not investigate.” Despite her shiny paintjob and beautiful decorations, Override had successfully merged herself into the freshly painted turquoise wall. Gone was her usual professional restraint and posture, and in its place was a bland image of a somewhat sad bot. 

“Duly noted,” Ultra Magnus said, “but you yourself are not quite as powerless.”

“Hm, yes,” Override admitted. “For the time being I am working at the Honorary Guard for the Council. But not for long. I have decided to resign when all this blows over and start a civilian life once again. Not to mention the Guard isn't even a military unit. At this point the investigators at the police department know the most.”

“The Council is most likely briefed about the case,” Arcee theorized. “And being civilians doesn't mean we won't do anything. We have a chance to return to normal life, and I for one am not going to let these warmongers to take that away from me, even if I'm not a soldier anymore!”

“Well said,” Bulkhead said with a heavy nod. There was agreeing murmur across the room and a few heavy sighs. 

“The police higher-ups indeed have the most information right now,” Ultra Magnus mused thoughtfully, a digit stroking his jawline. “Captain Override, I understand your conjunx is the head of Kaon's police department. Could she be of any assistance?”

There was a tensing in the participants at the mention of the Decepticon. Override's shoulders rose and fell with a soundless yet noticeable sigh as she shifted on her place and crossed her arms. She looked still bland but now a little bit prickly as well. 

“Unfortunately I don't think so,” she answered, tightening the knot of her arms like she was trying to cocoon herself in her own plating. “And please, just Override is fine, for all of you. As for my conjunx, she won't leak anything to anyone, not even me. Nothing beyond mundane everyday pleasantries anyway. Though that might be simply because I don't like that she's in Kaon.” A little joyless chuckle escaped her, as if she was trying to release some of the tension that was winding the atmosphere tight. Labels “Override's conjunx endura” and “the leader of the Blue Flame” didn't seem to fit together at all, and thus the subject of Stormsplitter was practically unapproachable. 

She threw quick glances at everyone in the room and gave them a polite, tight smile. “I know you all must find our union a tad bit odd,” she said, and before anyone could make any polite objections she shook her helm and raised her servo to halt them. “Not that it matters! I know that is so, it's always been like that. I understand. We are... very different. We've been together for so long that I tend to forget just how different we truly are.”

The pause that followed was awkward. The subject was personal and delicate so the older bots didn't dare to make comments or intruding questions, but Smokescreen and Bumblebee moved on their seats and visibly sought courage from each other to speak up.

Smokescreen found his voice first, and sheepishly said: “But... But we've talked with some ex-Cons at work. They aren't _so_ different! I mean –“

“That's a precious sentiment,” Override said with a gentle smile, followed by a sigh. “You are right, of course. I think this one's on me. I think things would go back to normal once I returned home.”

This evoked sympathetic murmur from everyone. Arcee leaned towards the other femme with a deeply empathetic expression on her faceplate. “I think we all did. I think that we all, not just us but all of Cybertron, are slowly realizing there's no going back to anything.”

“The thing is,” Override began, wrapping her arms tighter around her chassis and a tense smile still frigid on her lipplates, “I thought that I'd move back to Crystal City and be an artist again! I think I always assumed that Stormsplitter would come with me, but she wouldn't fit in my city! And I have no place in Kaon.”

“So we are still divided,” Ultra Magnus said grimly. “Our cities, our way of life and our planet can be devastated, but the actual error in the system is rooted in our sparks. That is what Optimus said to me, once.”

The mentioning of Optimus' designation alone made everyone perk up but also shift around with worry. 

“We still need him,” Bulkhead uttered. “Primes unite our people.”

“So they do...” Override commented softly, “yet I wonder... Can he still do it? He is built for war, not for peace.” She kept her helm angled down, and the light coming from the window reflected from her visor so her optics were impossible to see. She seemed aware of the possible insult her comment might have dealt, but at the same time everyone knew what she had said needed to be said aloud. Bitterness rippled through the atmosphere.

“Optimus: Strong and brave! Give up: never!” Bumblebee beeped in protest. 

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “We all trust and believe in Optimus Prime. I don't think anyone in this room or many outside of it doubt him. But maybe this isn't his fight anymore. Doctor believes he has fought his fights already.” 

“What? Ratchet?” Bulkhead asked, blinking in surprise. “He couldn't say that! Not now that Optimus is out there trying to make Megatron see reason and with bombs going off outside his building!”

“Megatron is everyone's problem,” Arcee said in support, “as are the bots behind the bombing.”

“I don't think Doctor meant it as that Optimus couldn't fight on, but that it isn't his place to fight on anymore. Primes are called forth by Primus in moments of great crisis. He believes Optimus has served his divine purpose by ending the war,” Ultra Magnus said neutrally, paying little mind to arguments or the upset from the younger mechs. “Perhaps he is right.”

“And what if he was called forth to defeat Megatron?” Override suggested. 

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “If that's the case, then his work is still very much in progress. Although... I do believe Doctor is letting his emotions speak instead of his rationality. He would like to have his civilian friend back, after all.”

“We'll ask Ratchet himself once he gets here,” Arcee said, ending the arising quarrel right there. “But defeating Megatron as a bonded pair is an entirely different hive of scraplets... Um, if I may ask, Override? How did you manage to reach understanding with Stormsplitter?”

There was another strong ripple in the atmosphere after Arcee voiced the question everyone had been thinking but hadn't dared to speak, like it was a particularly embarrassing taboo. But now that the subject was out in the open, politeness cleared the path for open curiosity. 

“Yeah, how did you get the Con work together with you? I mean, as a Wrecker I know Stormsplitter and her reputation a bit too well,” Bulkhead said with a frown. “She didn't come across as an especially reasonable bot, you know.”

“Oh, I know, she is one hard-headed bot and a frightening warrior. At first it was hard, but then...” Override said, and suddenly the tension in her smile was gone. It was replaced with a relaxed, wide smile tugging at the corners of her intake while she shifted on her place, almost giddy, and brought her servo up to her faceplate to cover the smile she was fighting to contain. “We fell in love, that's all.”

*

Ratchet lingered at the airport. The terminal of interstellar flights was significantly less busy than the one reserved for the flights within the planet's atmosphere, but everywhere bots were doing mainly the same thing: waiting. He had been there after only a few cycles once he had received Jazz's transmission, but he and his company were probably still being processed according to the standards of returning refugees, which included having their identities confirmed, their designations crossed from the long lists of MIA soldiers, and being debriefed of the current state of affairs of the home world and where to start rebuilding their lives there. It was impossible to tell beforehand how long the whole process would take or which part would be the hardest and longest, but two cycles wasn't considered a long time for it, and so Ratchet waited. He was restless but refused to be overwhelmed by his impatience and become irritated. This was good news. He understood very well how great a privilege it was to find friends who had gone missing, what a joy it was that another few of their kind had survived the war and the long exodus, and that this was a long-overdue and greatly wished for reunion for Optimus even more than it was for him, yet there lay the problem. Ratchet was too concerned for Optimus' well-being to jump up and down in joy, and the attack attempt earlier in the morning only amplified it. Not that Ratchet would exactly mourn if a vengeful vigilante actually managed to take Megatron out as was no doubt the case, but in the current situation Optimus was almost always right next to Megatron, and therefore vulnerable to misfire. Something had to be done, and soon.

Another half a cycle passed, and finally the wait came to an end. Ratchet recognized Jazz from afar, his ever so stylish black and white paintjob and large headlights on a curvy race-car frame making him obvious even in spaces that weren't as wide and loosely packed as the interstellar port.  
Ratchet raised his servo and waved, and immediately Jazz spotted him and dashed toward him, waving excitedly all the way when he half ran, half skipped to him.

“Ratchet! Long time, no see! What a pleasure! How are you doing you old worrier you!? How are things!?” Jazz greeted in a flood of happy chatter immediately after he got within a hearing distance. He grinned widely and practically radiated excitement. 

“Yes, hello, thing's are... going, I suppose,” Ratchet replied as Jazz bounced closer and grasped his servo with both of his own and shook. 

“Great to hear, doc! Absolutely amazing! Whew, it's great to be back! I couldn't have been happier when I got OP's message back in the Delta Sector, and wouldn't you know, we took a long way home and hit a couple of establishments on the way to celebrate! How's the old gang?! Have you seen Prowl? Hot Rod? Ultra Magnus?”

Ratchet couldn't help but to smile even though he would have liked to have his servo back before Jazz would shake his plates loose. “Ah, well, Ultra Magnus lives in Iacon, he joined us shortly after the revival. And... Well, Bumblebee is around as well.”

“Bumblebee!” Jazz shouted and laughed out of pure happiness, it seemed. “Oh, our favorite scout! I have to confess, I feared for the little one a bit there, I'm so happy he made it! Ah, young mechs, what a blessing! I hope we'll get to race sometime soon!”

“That would make Bumblebee and Smokescreen both very happy,” Ratchet said. It wasn't an empty pleasantry either, he was sure it was true. 

“Smokescreen, eh?” Jazz asked immediately and retracted his blue visor up on top of his forehelm so he could give Ratchet a meaningful look with his optic ridges raised. “Could it be that young love has bloomed?”

Ratchet chuckled. “Not that I know of,” he said with a shake of his helm.

“Oh well, now we have all the time in the world, don't we?” Jazz said with a wave of his servo. “But seriously, did I miss many bonding ceremonies?”

“Ah...” Ratchet said and stopped there. Delivering the bad news was inevitable, and now the responsibility had fallen on him. It was his duty now, and there was no escape. His intake hung open a bit too long, and he could see Jazz's curiosity and anticipation growing, and yet the only thing that came out of his vocalizer was a breathless cough: “Optimus...”

Jazz looked like he might spontaneously explode at any moment. His intake dropped open and a small wheeze came out, probably instead of a scandalized scream he was trying to suppress, and his expression was a shifting mix of wide-eyed wonder and betrayal. “Optimus, our little quiet duty-first-and-I-last, I-will-never-love-again asocial friend Optimus?! Has tied the knot?! _Without me there_?! But with _whom_?!” came out of Jazz's intake with consistently rising intonation. He was visibly shaking, and Ratchet grew even more worried.

“Maybe... Maybe you should sit down,” he suggested.

“No! No I won't! You will tell me right this klik, Ratchet, or so help me –!” Jazz demanded while wiggling his foredigit in his direction, and then slapped both of his servos on his intake like he was afraid he might actually start screaming, singing or squealing if he didn't. Ratchet had known Jazz long enough to know that it was probably a wise precaution.

There was no prolonging it, and honestly Ratchet was worrying for Jazz's processor pressure the longer he withheld the information. “Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you, and be sure to know that it's complicated,” he said. “There was a political glitch, and thus Optimus has indeed bonded, in theory, to Megatron.”

There was a klik of complete, stunned silence that was so absolute that time might have as well stopped, and Ratchet was expecting total confusion and stuttered questions. The klik passed, and then Jazz's face did something very interesting, and very strange. At first his servos dropped to uncover the widest, most sparkling smile yet, but then it dimmed into confusion, then came doubt with narrowed optics, and then a careful, reserved smile yanked at his face again but the corner of his left optic twitched as well. The smile fell completely to give way for even more confusion, but then it returned, manic and wobbly. Finally Jazz found his voice and squeaked: “Complicated?”

Ratchet watched Jazz with his optics narrowed and suspicion openly showing on his faceplate. “Yes, it's complicated because the Council ruled that they serve their termination sentence in servitude for the public and show a good example by bonding in peace.”

“Oh,” Jazz said and slumped. 

Ratchet narrowed his optics if possible even more, and measured the other mech carefully. It was his turn to be confused. He didn't know what kind of reaction he had expected or hoped for, but this resembled oddly disappointment. “What?” he asked.

Jazz perked up fast as if pulled from an invisible string. “I need to talk to Optimus absolutely exactly right now.” 

Of course that wasn't possible, and after Ratchet was done explaining that they left the airport and drove together towards Ultra Magnus' apartment, Ratchet leading the way and Jazz chattering away all the while via a comm-line. He didn't seem to be able to take a no for an answer, no matter how many times Ratchet explained the current situation and that there were official, legal authorities at play here and that Jazz couldn't just take a gift basket with him and charm his way in. That it didn't work like that anymore, that it was peace time, and that a miraculously stiff and branched out bureaucracy was a part of the deal. 

But although stubborn and troublesome, Jazz's whole being just radiated good mood and right attitude, and by the time they arrived before the apartment building it had affected Ratchet just enough that he felt mellow and had already given up with reasoning: Real world would teach, and there was no magic trick around that. 

When Ultra Magnus opened the door and Jazz all but fell inside it was like a ray of sun had sailed into the room, and the energy spread. Jazz shook servos and hugged everyone in the room, no matter that he squished Arcee against his midsection or that he couldn't get his arms around Bulkhead or that Ultra Magnus just awkwardly patted him on the back. He didn't even know Smokescreen but caught him in a hug along with Bumblebee anyway. 

“I'm back, everyone! Hello, hello! Peace and love and so forth!” he almost sang as he danced around everyone. “How are you? I missed you all so much!” 

“Yes yes, it's good to see you too,” Ultra Magnus stiffly replied, trying to usher Jazz to take a seat but with little effect. 

Ratchet walked to Ultra Magnus. “I'm sorry we are late. What have you discussed so far?”

“It's no problem, doctor. We have come to a conclusion that we know very little and can do very little. The enemy is not in plain sight and we are hardly equipped or entitled to start a fight,” Ultra Magnus said. “We also discussed whether or not this is Optimus' fight. Some... Some brought up the point that now that the war is over Prime has carried out his duty.” 

Ratchet harrumphed. “Quite right so! Hasn't Optimus done enough for us?! He never wanted any trouble anyway, only peace. It's not right to ask any more of him, and definitely not to lump him together with that warmongering monster!” 

It was like some sort of keyword was uttered, because Jazz disengaged from his hugging process and turned to the older mechs. “Yeah, about that... Ratch, I would really like to talk to Optimus,” he said, looking almost apologetic. He even lifted his visor to underline his sincerity. 

“And I told you, that isn't in my servos,” Ratchet replied. 

Jazz looked thoughtful for a moment. “I hear you, I really do,” he said, slowly. “Well, say that I could somehow arrange myself a right for a visitation, hypothetically. If I could manage that, would you be so kind and wait one more week to visit him?”

Ratchet crossed his arms across his chassis and frowned. “If you could do that – without breaking any laws, mind you – then go ahead and be my quest. But you can't, so stop asking!”

Jazz lifted his servos in surrender. “I hear you, friend.”

*

Another visitation date rolled by for Optimus and Megatron. It had been a rather quiet and somewhat awkward week after their little escapade to Kaon. Kaon with its ruins and nightlife and familiar crowd and rowdy culture was almost like a different world from Iacon, a bigger city with clearer city planning, clean corners and a different culture scene that was more focused indoors. In Iacon there was the small apartment with a locked door waiting for them, the weekly rations and the watchful optic of the law and the public. In Kaon things had felt light and clear like in the past, and Iacon was the cold and steely reality, placing them firmly back in the now and here. 

Megatron had hardly spoken with Optimus the whole week unless it was about the terrorist attack or the politics surrounding it, and it seemed that the issue had consumed all of his time. Violence – organized or individual – wasn't new for either one of them, and in Megatron's case it had been a part of his life from the very beginning so Optimus ruled all kinds of explanations of shock or worry out. Those things aside, Megatron was very dedicated to the subject, and there had to be a reason for that. What it was, Optimus had no idea. He hadn't completely ruled out the possibility that he was just keeping busy so they wouldn't have to face each other, and Optimus would have been lying if he had claimed that he wasn't at least a bit relieved. 

Maybe the trip to Kaon had been a bad idea after all. Not because it was a poor move in the game with the Council, but because it had tasted like normal life and nostalgia and it had dislodged something between them, and Optimus was too experienced and wise to fool himself that things could go back to the way they were before. Not that it was better when they were fighting, but the latest turn of events was definitely in the wrong direction. Now something old was stirring, and that was nothing more than a mirage, an echo of a long-lost dream. 

Megatron was quiet and acted like the other didn't exist when they were fetched from the apartment and escorted up to the visitation rooms. Downshift who greeted them by routine even when weighed down by his regular dose of nerves seemed to also pick up on something going on between them, and so he kept his small talk and briefing unusually short and kept his distance. 

Somehow Downshift's avoidance made Optimus feel a dull blow of sadness, as if the rest of the world with its everyday life had disconnected and left Megatron and Optimus out of its cycle, making the two of them outsiders that didn't belong with them anymore. 

Megatron didn't say a word or even look at Optimus before he disappeared in his own visitation room, and Optimus was about to do the same but Downshift stopped him.

“Actually, Optimus, there has been a last minute rescheduling here,” he said, tapping away on his pad and scrolling through something quickly like he himself was trying to understand what had happened.

Optimus felt his spark sinking: he had looked forward to seeing Ratchet again the entire time he had been imprisoned, and to wait even a solar cycle more felt unbearable. “What do you mean?” he asked, pushing his feelings aside. 

“I'm... I'm afraid I don't quite know,” Downshift said with an apologetic chuckle. “It would seem that your medical officer will be here next week, and some other high-ranking Commander has been put on his place today.”

Optimus frowned. All his officers had been to visit him already, all except for Ratchet, and maybe he had been around Megatron for a little too long because his first thought was that this was maybe Ratbat's petty revenge on him for going to Kaon. 

Downshift seemed to give up on his notes and messages and sighed. “Well, who knows? Be so kind and go ahead,” he said to Optimus and gestured to the door. 

Optimus wondered if he'd encounter a random Autobot official or a total stranger, but didn't complain but opened the door and stepped inside the familiar glass cubicle. He stepped in to the room, and immediately froze in place. His spark skipped a pulse and then soared, he felt pressure in his coolant tubes and gave a pained yet happy smile.

“Jazz,” he said. 

Jazz was bouncing on his place on the other side of the glass, practically leaning on it and waving at him with a grin on his faceplate. “Hey! Long time no see, Optimus! Come here and give your best friend a proper greeting!”

Optimus couldn't help but laugh as he walked to meet his best friend who was waiting for him there with his sparkling smile and just as much longing after spending tens of thousands of stellar cycles apart. Jazz pressed both of his servos against the glass between them, and after a moment of hesitation Optimus too discarded all care for any rules and regulations and pressed his servos against the other's. 

“Jazz, I can't even properly express how good it is to see you,” Optimus said.

“I can guess,” Jazz chuckled, his optics wet behind his visor. “If the circumstances were more pleasant I'd hug you. You have no idea how much I missed you! It's wonderful that you're still functioning!” 

“I could say the same, my friend,” Optimus sighed. “I've been worried about you, I thought you had gone missing for good.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, we ended up taking a detour,” Jazz said with a mischievous snicker. 

“I can imagine,” Optimus chuckled with affection. They stood like that for a moment longer, just enjoying each other's presence and the fact that they were finally reunited, but Optimus recalled his manners soon enough. He gestured at the lone chair behind Jazz and said: “Please, take a seat. We have much to talk about.”

Jazz gladly obeyed, pulled up a chair and sat close enough to the glass that his knee-guards were touching it, and Optimus did the same inside the cubicle. 

Jazz's gaze flickered around the impressive security systems and the sturdy prison Optimus was locked inside and scoffed to himself. “One pit-worthy cage they have set up for you.”

“Yes,” Optimus agreed, then paused. “How well have you been briefed about the current situation?”

Jazz shrugged. “I got the general swing of things from Magnus and Ratchet, with a general side of complaints about injustice and propaganda. Say, are we living under oligarchy _again_?” 

Optimus shrugged. “You are asking the important questions, my friend. Everyone claims that we do not, but I suppose we won't really see until comes the time to change the bots in power.”

Jazz nodded. “Yeah, true. Everyone can roll straight to the Pit if we do, though. The war was too much for us to be stuck with the same old.”

“I wonder if anyone would have the energy to rebel if we are,” Optimus confessed. 

“Well some apparently have the energy to terrorize, so they'd better,” Jazz countered. 

“Also true,” Optimus said. Violence still felt awfully normal to him even though he was growing very fond of the calm of peace time. His various weapons systems felt useless but all too much a part of him at this point to give up. 

Jazz smiled and studied Optimus' faceplate, and something shifted in his optics. His fondness gained a knowing tone, his smile turned slightly lopsided and Optimus knew he was in for a row of personal questions. 

“You know what I'm thinking about,” Jazz said, barely containing his grin. 

Optimus sighed and glanced at the ceiling. “No, I don't. Please enlighten me,” he said with a dry chuckle. 

“I'm thinking about the tank in the room,” Jazz said with a eager smile he barely contained. “The fact that you, my friend, got bonded while I was away. Now, spill.”

Optimus sighed and glanced at the ceiling, hesitated and weighed his options carefully. It wasn't like he didn't want to confide in Jazz but what he would say couldn't be taken back and strangely he felt like speaking up was unfairly selfish on his own part. Eventually he said: “It's complicated.”

Jazz smiled a sarcastically wide smile and faked surprise. “You mean to say that our Prime bonding to his arch enemy out of the blue after a long war isn't simple?!”

Optimus raised an optic ridge. “Your sarcasm is as heavy-handed as always, I see.”

Jazz didn't falter. “Yeah, but seriously. Spill. What's going on?”

Optimus glanced at the ceiling again and shifted on his seat, visibly uncomfortable and rather awkward. “It's a publicity stunt from the current Council,” he began. “The court sentenced us to death, but the punishment is served via life-long servitude to the public – “

“I heard the political side already from Ratchet,” Jazz interrupted. “What I want to hear is how you're bonded to Megatron. Bonded, Optimus! ...Bonded-bonded?”

“Not like that,” Optimus quickly corrected him with his gaze on the floor. 

Jazz leaned closer with an expectant look on his faceplate. 

“It's not like that,” Optimus said, now firmer and sounding more like a Prime and less like a librarian caught smuggling novels home on his work computer. 

“What is it like then?” Jazz pressed on, still leaning forward and openly curious. 

Optimus gave an exasperated puff through his vents and shrugged. “We're managing. We share the space and of late we have debated – or fought, that might be a more accurate description of our talks... We have fought about the past and our beliefs. I'm trying to get him to work with me against the return of conservative functionalism and terrorism, and I've been moderately successful.” 

“Uh-huh,” Jazz said, slowly nodding along as he spoke. “Sure, sure. More politics.”

Optimus looked awkward again, shifting on his seat and glancing at Jazz under his furrowed ridges. His blue optics had a trace of an unreadable emotion, and to his oldest friend they looked pained. 

Relenting the pressure Jazz sighed and sat back. “How are you doing there? I understand you are under a house-arrest.” 

“I've been stuck in worse places. That apartment has nothing on the life-boats of the Ark, and I must admit it's more comfortable than the old missile silo my team and I resided in on Earth too,” Optimus said, thoughtful. “I have much to do and it's difficult under a house-arrest, but I manage.” He hesitated, then added: “I suppose I'm a little bit bored. And it's crowded. It's impossible to avoid him.”

“Hmm, well you weren't able to avoid him when you had the entire planet to roam,” Jazz noted. “And the galaxy was too small too, I understand.”

Optimus gave a strained huff and rubbed his forehelm. “We orbit each other like it's the will of Primus.”

Jazz chuckled. “I'm not a mech of faith or anything like that, but sometimes it feels like I'm staring straight into the source code of destiny when I'm watching you two go.”

“Right back at you, old friend.” 

They shared a moment of comfortable silence during which Optimus relaxed a bit and looked Jazz in the optics again. They inspected one another fondly like long separated friends tend to do, and the conversation halted to wait for them. 

“Ratchet fears he will kill you in your recharge,” Jazz noted with a hint of amusement which Optimus joined in on. 

“I think Ratchet is more angry at the justice system than he is worried about me,” Optimus said, shaking his helm but with a kind smile. “Is he alright?” 

“Ratchet is fine,” Jazz said and waved the subject aside, “I think he genuinely thinks Megatron will eventually snap after looking at you for too long and terminate you with a kitchen tool.”

“Ratchet thinks with his spark,” Optimus replied. “He's seen too much of his cruelty to expect anything else from him. But Megatron won't lay a digit on me, that I'm sure of.” 

Jazz scoffed. “Honor?”

“Something like that.”

Jazz looked hesitant for a second, something very rare for him and thus telling that he was trying to play his cards right. “I saw much of that cruelty too, you know. But I know for a fact that no one's seen more of his cruelty than you,” he said.

Optimus didn't say anything or make a gesture to signal either agreeing or disagreeing, but he met Jazz's optics. 

“Do you expect anything but cruelty from him? How can you?” Jazz asked. 

“I think every living being is capable of change,” Optimus answered.

“Don't avoid the question,” Jazz said pointing a digit at Optimus. “I asked about you and him, not about 'every living being'. Get down from the ideal level to the personal one, please.”

Optimus sighed again and smiled a defeated smile. “Fine, you got me. But I stand by my words, I think everyone is capable of it, and that includes him.”

“And still it's you alone who's debating him and trying to change him while simultaneously wishing you could avoid him,” Jazz pointed out. 

Optimus couldn't help but to shift and shield himself with his arms, defensive all of the sudden. Jazz offered him a smile that had a startling amount of sympathy in it. 

“Do you still feel that way about him?”

Optimus' gaze dropped to the floor again and he wrapped his arms around himself tighter. He offlined his optics briefly before onlining them again, gathering himself and forcing himself to focus on Jazz again. “At this point I think there's little I can do to help it,” he said. 

Jazz leaned back in his chair, lifted a leg over his knee-guard and crossed his arms, but despite his posture there was no judgment in his expression, something Optimus gratefully took note of. 

“Objectively speaking that is terrible,” Jazz said. “Sorry, but that has to be said. Now I said it, we can move on. In my honest opinion though... That's a minor miracle. Are you sure he hasn't just punched you one too many times?”

Optimus huffed through his vents again. “Like punching someone would make them feel like this.”

“Well it certainly doesn't stop you from doing so either,” Jazz replied and then looked like his own words made something worrisome dawn to him. “That can't be normal. I'm sorry, but... He's done nothing but hurt you.”

“You sound like Ratchet,” Optimus said in a sigh. 

Jazz looked surprised. “Does he know?”

“Primus, no,” Optimus hastily answered. “As for what has happened between Megatron and myself, trust me, I know. You said it yourself that I'm the one who's seen his cruelty the most. We orbit each other, no matter where I go he finds me. I've seen it all, Jazz.”

“More the reason to question the sanity of your spark.”

“I know,” Optimus admitted followed by a suffering sigh. “I don't know why my spark is so stubborn about this. I filed that away and kept it under close surveillance so it wouldn't affect my decision-making, but I always thought it would fade away eventually. But it hasn't. And I fear it won't.”

Jazz listened to him speak and nodded along. He looked serious, even sympathetic, and Optimus felt the words becoming easier to speak when he glanced at Jazz's face. 

His friend took a deep invent and released it. “Fighting him all this time must have been hard for you,” he said gently. 

“Fighting has been hard for everyone,” Optimus noted.

“Yeah, but we're talking about you now. You, as a mech of your own,” Jazz pressed, “I'm just saying. As a bystander I can assure you you did well.”

Optimus hummed noncommittally. He crossed his arms again and avoided Jazz's gaze. “I've known for a very long time that I can't kill him,” he confessed gravely. “Ratchet has noticed as much, but I don't think he drew an entirely correct conclusion from it.”

Jazz was quiet, but his silence wasn't shocked or pressuring, it simply existed. 

Optimus glanced at him and looked hesitant again. “What if I'm just deluding myself like you said? If I'm just stubbornly looking past every act of cruelty and every burst of violence, and foolishly giving him the benefit of the doubt even though he has almost killed me so many times? What if I...” he paused suddenly as if his vocalizer had suddenly seized up. He offlined his optics very briefly and rebooted his vocalizer. “What if I love something I made up?”

Jazz pursed his lipplates and stared past Optimus for a moment, then shrugged. “Or you look at his true form and still see something you love.”

Optimus' optic ridges drew together again and he looked pained, a servo raising up to rub at his forehelm as if he could stop his processor from wrecking itself in search for reason. “Somehow that sounds even worse.”

Jazz shrugged again. “Well, yes. It means you have scrap-awful taste in romance.”

Optimus laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, finally out there. This by the way makes Jazz the keeper of the most well-kept secret of the Autobot troops since it has the clearance of exactly two mechs. This would make Ultra Magnus proud if he knew about it.


	27. Things long lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for an update once again!  
> In the comments of the previous chapter someone wished for more Starscream, and I think my pacing is doing well since it's his turn now. 
> 
> I'm doing some more world-building here with Vos and its culture, and also we're approaching a few turning points here.

It was almost the time of the stellar cycle when the sun would start to stay above the horizon longer and longer by each day. It was the first shift of the stellar cycle in the middle of the fifth moon, but it was just a minor mark in the calendar, a mere curiosity in Iacon. 

Starscream had spotted it in his calendar immediately of course, and in a moment of masochism highlighted it too. In Iacon that cycle would be just like any other but in Vos... In Vos it would be a time for celebration. 

Starscream thought of Vos often but didn't dare to let it show. At work several of his coworkers had decorated their stations somehow and personalized their computers, but Starscream had lived aboard Nemesis and under its strict, impersonal military routine long enough that he didn't bother bringing his personality to work. A vast majority of bots working in air-traffic control and the surrounding travel and shipping service industries were flight-frames and that included flocks of seekers, and Starscream had spotted quite a few computer backgrounds and posters depicting Vosian landscape, architecture and famous attractions. Every time his optics landed upon any of those he felt a flash of homesickness, nostalgia and grief in his spark before hastily turning his gaze away, and he couldn't even imagine anyone feeling anything else when looking at those pictures. He couldn't imagine a reason why anyone would voluntarily keep those around.

And yet here he was, staring out of the window of the apartment to the direction where Vos resided, just beyond the horizon and a several solar cycles' journey away, and felt nostalgic about the approaching celebration. He leaned against the window and wondered if he really was that different from his coworkers who kept pictures of the long-destroyed cityscape and attractions near them, and if this was what they felt when looking at those: a murky mixture of pain and longing that they cherished. 

Starscream hadn't thought about the Festival of the First Flight in forever. They had kept records of time mostly on computer, but since they had traveled to other worlds and galaxies and during war every solar cycle was exactly like the other they hadn't really paid mind to the passage of time in Cybertonian terms. Perhaps only Soundwave had known the date and the cycle at every given moment, but to Starscream there had been many stellar cycles that had just blended together without him questioning it. At this point it would take a considerable amount of effort to calculate exactly how many stellar cycles ago he had flown in the Festival. How long had it been? How long ago he had formed a trine of his own? How long had they been bonded?

How many stellar cycles had he been alone again? 

Starscream glared at the horizon and wracked his processor. He had been a widow for a long, long time but the feeling was still fresh, and the approaching Festival was tearing the old wound open again. In a moment of weakness he had searched out news from Vos and found out that they were indeed arranging the Festival for the first time in millions of stellar cycles, and the word was that flyers from around the planet were traveling to Vos to attend it. It was predicted to be a grand festival, the city was flourishing and many artists had returned to their old occupation in order to contribute to it in no matter how small a way.

It really seemed to be becoming a splendid festival, but Starscream wasn't about to attend it. He didn't even know if he wanted to. He wasn't sure about anything in this matter.

The Festival he had attended first was a sweet memory, as were the many after it. The very next one he had been able to attend as a part of a bonded trine, and their celebration flight had been top notch that first time and every time after that. 

When he offlined his optics and let himself drift he could go back to those times. He could feel the wind running over his plates and himself gliding across the sky, carried on by the invisible paths in the air, thundering up and diving into the clouds. If he let himself dream even further, he could feel the ghost-like touch of two EM fields and the tug of something deeper inside his being. It felt like the finest string was tying the three beings together, and that string shimmered with electric impulses like the circuits within one frame.

He knew where the two were about to glide without having to pass a single word between them. They flew in total radio silence, guided only by hunches and feelings about each others' intentions, throwing themselves into those and trusting them unconditionally. They never spoke or signaled, and yet still flew in perfect sync. 

They had been a perfect fit from the first moment together and only gotten better after, especially after bonding. Even now after all this time Starscream could remember how it had felt to sink into the bond, to transcend the limits of his frame and feel as if a part of him lived in two other places and between all three of them at the same time. What an experience it was to concentrate like that, to release oneself into the flow and understand that he wasn't just a frame or even the spark within it, but extended beyond those. 

The opening and closing of the front door forced Starscream to snap out of his daydream and return to the lonely present. He straightened up from his slouched position and lifted his helm from the window glass to look behind him.

Knockout was returning from his overtly long shift at work and carried supplies with him. Starscream had known to expect him and they were almost out of energon so he was probably bearing supplies, but still Starscream couldn't help but feel irritated at the sight of his roommate. Perhaps it was the harsh reality settling in, or perhaps it was latent regret about his daydreaming and how exposed he suddenly felt even though Knockout couldn't hear his thoughts, but Starscream was instantly in a bad mood regardless. 

The seeker turned around and watched as Knockout walked to the kitchen area with the supplies and set them on the counter, where he started to put them away, all this without paying the other mech any mind. 

“It's rather late, don't you think?” Starscream noted when the silence stretched on. 

Knockout glanced in his direction. “It is. The lines were long today.” 

“I trust you got enough supplies for now?” Starscream asked.

“Yes. Don't worry, I have my ways. And I also have my credits,” Knockout replied casually while he carried on with his task. 

“Hm. So you do,” Starscream said and didn't think about it any further, but turned back towards the window again. The horizon was turning dark with the sun setting and clouds gathering there. He wondered if the wind would rise. 

“Are you going to attend the Festival in Vos?” Knockout asked. 

The sudden question made Starscream jolt and spin around. Suddenly it felt like the other _could_ read his thoughts and the vague irritation flared up to anger in a defensive rush. “No,” he snapped. “Of course not, that's no place for me. Besides it's not like I could leave the city even if I wanted to.”

Knockout raised an optic ridge at his tone but made no comment of it, just took a cube out of the cold compartment and peeled the lid off it. “Alright,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I would ask. It seems to be quite a big deal, or so I've heard. Lots of bots are really excited.”

Starscream scoffed and crossed his arms. He didn't want to discuss this topic with Knockout – or anyone else – but some self-destructive part egged him on to stay on the subject. “It is a big deal,” he said. “But my place is not there.”

Knockout gave him a look that revealed he had picked up on the baiting tone, but he refused to bite. “That's a shame. A good party is always a good party.”

“Parties serve a function,” Starscream scoffed. 

Knockout shrugged while pouring the energon from the cube into a glass. “They don't have to. Sometimes all the function you need is to have some fun. Relaxing a bit from time to time would do you good, trust me.” 

Starscream rolled his optics and scoffed loudly. He didn't know what annoyed him more, Knockout's respectful distance and how he obviously was refusing to pick a fight, or that he himself had drooped so low as to try to start one in the first place. “The Festival of the First Flight is not some little get-together to get overcharged and avoid your responsibilities!” he snapped. 

“Huh. Doesn't sound like much of a party to me then,” Knockout noted in between sips. He had taken a datapad out of his subspace and was browsing something on it while he fueled, paying Starscream very little mind. 

“It's a very important festival!” Starscream snapped. “It's to prove ourselves as flyers, how good and capable we are and then join together with those of our rank! It's what keeps Vosian society together, it's the core of our flocks and basis of everything! You wouldn't understand, grounder.” 

“Right,” Knockout said but was clearly more interested in the datapad than he was in the current conversation. 

Starscream felt his annoyance darkening in his chassis and turning thorny. He gritted his dentae and walked away from the window, instead making his way to the couch and throwing himself down on it. He stared up to the ceiling and stewed in his own sour emotions and thirst for an argument while Knockout tapped away on his datapad, and every single tap, ping and chime from the device felt like a needle inserted straight into his audio receptors, piercing the delicate internal mechanisms.

“You really want to go, don't you?” Knockout suddenly said. 

Starscream jolted upright at the comment, but the other mech hadn't even lifted his gaze from the pad, just continued to lean on the counter and type with one digit. 

“No, I don't,” Starscream spat defensively. “I told you, I have no place in there!”

“Uh-huh. Like that's ever stopped you before,” Knockout pointed out. 

“This is different! You don't understand!” 

“True, I do not, and you are doing absolutely splendid job at keeping it that way,” he noted piercingly and glanced at Starscream underneath the ridges of his forehelm. 

Starscream snapped his intake shut, clicking his dentae. It took him a moment to gather his wits about him, glare at Knockout and lay back down. “I told you, you can't understand –“

“Because I'm a grounder, yes, as you have mentioned, several times,” Knockout finished for him, his voice dry and almost bored. He finally put the datapad down, and Starscream heard the device locking and the mech discarding it before emptying his glass in one go before tossing the vessel into the sink. 

“How about you try me,” Knockout said challengingly and approached the flyer. 

Starscream peered up at him, taking in his lazy posture but also noting the serious and steady look in his optics. This was what he wanted to cause, this was what he had tried to provoke. Wasn't it? He didn't know why he was suddenly feeling like he was laying on an operating table and Knockout was about to dissect him, but the cold and numb feeling spreading through his systems was very real, and it made him feel weak and small.

Still, he met Knockout's gaze and decided to have his confrontation and hope it would do something that staring into the horizon couldn't. 

“It is for trines. We compete and show what we are made of, what we can do, and during the sky dance we will find those who are akin to us,” he began. Despite the chilliness in his system his voice came out steady and smooth, for which he was grateful. “The sky dance is a particular ritual and it can take an entire solar cycle, and if we are true to ourselves and give it our all, then... One rose from the ground, but three will come down.”

Knockout listened to him keenly but with a lazy posture, leaning his weight on one pede and keeping his arms crossed across his chassis. He didn't ask, interrupt or comment at any point; even when Starscream paused he remained silent. 

“Trine is the core of all and any community in Vos. A trine will live together, work together and fly together, and only trines can join flocks. Flocks consist of trines, and one trine always belongs to the same flock. This is the way. This is how we function,” Starscream explained, slowly and savoring the knowledge he had as well as the memories reciting it brought up. He could almost feel the glory days of the city in his structures when he spoke. 

“Some trines bond, some don't,” he said. Paused. “Mine did.”

Still Knockout didn't say anything, and really, why would he? He knew this already. The ceiling became very interesting once again, and Starscream stared at it and its freshly cast concrete and new yet cheap paint until his optics grew unfocused and welled with coolant. 

“I attended the Festival as an unbonded flyer once, and everything was perfect,” he spoke quietly, “something like that doesn't happen twice in a life cycle. Nor should it.”

“I see,” Knockout simply said, offered no other comment or questions, but without any warning stepped forward and sat down on the couch. Starscream was taking up most of the space with his lounging but his legs were bundled up so Knockout had space in the far corner. He stared out of the window and let his servos hang off the couch between his knee-guards. “So you're not going to go to Vos to search for new flyer companions.”

“What did I just say?!” Starscream quipped, frustrated. 

Knockout hummed thoughtfully and shrugged, threw him a quick side-ways glance and then turned to stare out of the window again. “You're not planning to move on, then.”

“What?” Starscream said.

“You're just going to grieve for the rest of your existence?”

“That's not it!” Starscream snarled and turned on his side, propped his helm against his servo and stared outside too. He had to lie on the very edge of the couch so that he could arrange his wings comfortably, but he managed. “It's not about moving on or grieving or making good choices. I had my trine, and I had my bonded mates. Do you understand what that means? I shared my spark with them. We were connected on a level so deep and intimate it made me believe in miracles and the Order of Primus. You wouldn't know what that feels like, or what it means to have lost that.” The finish of his statement was so bitter he could almost taste it in his intake. 

Knockout tipped his helm in a manner that might have been a flinch. “True,” he admitted. “I've had lovers and companions, but never a bonded mate. I can't imagine what you're going through.”

Starscream laughed aloud, a cold, shrill sound. “Don't spew that medical professional scrap at me. That means nothing to me.”

“Is there anything that means anything to you anymore?” Knockout asked. 

Starscream snapped his intake shut again and turned his helm towards the other, seeing him stare back from the corner of his optic. Starscream stared back for a few, long kliks, defiant and irritated, expecting the other to turn away and allow them to drop the subject, but Knockout was just as defiant as he was, and the staring contest went on. Finally Starscream turned away with a chuckle. 

“Well. I suppose not truly,” he admitted with a light shrug. “I am a lone widow, the last little shard of the whole. There's no real purpose or place for me anymore.”

“Not even vengeance, then?”

Starscream chuckled again. “At this point, what is the purpose of that? As long as Megatron suffers I am a bit more at peace, but there's not really anything to gain anymore. War was simple. At war, everything is fair game. But now... what will come of this wretched world of ours? It'll take centuries before anything even remotely interesting happens – unless, that is, people will fall back under the old power.”

“You're quite the pessimist, Starscream,” Knockout noted with amused scoff. 

“And this is a surprise to you? Personally I would call myself rational, and that is one of the first things bots notice about me,” Starscream said.

Knockout chuckled and turned more towards him on the couch. “No revenge for you anymore, then?”

Starscream raised his optic ridges. He was still irritated and weary, and he didn't like how the conversation kept shifting and taking turns he couldn't predict. “If I wished to avenge my fallen mates I would have to eradicate the entire Autobot anti-aircraft force and everyone who ever took part in it to be sure. I can't entirely see your point.”

Knockout took a long, measuring look at him, glancing him over from toe struts to the tip of his helm finial as if he could see through his frame and into the truest truth of his spark by looking hard enough. Starscream didn't mind being looked at like that, but he was growing curious and with that impatient about what Knockout was trying to get at.

“Have you wondered how I can afford all of this?” Knockout asked finally, nudging his helm generally at their apartment and the extensive amount of tech and furniture lying around it. 

Starscream kept his faceplate carefully neutral. “The question has occurred to me, but it's unlikely I'll get in trouble for something I couldn't have possibly known about, so I left you be.”

Knockout nodded. “And I haven't told you in case you'd want to get me in trouble.”

“Why would I want to get you in trouble?” Starscream threw back, growing impatient and irritated again. In his opinion he had endured more than enough today, yesterday and the solar cycle before that and would continue to do so too, so Knockout should just spit it out already. There was no way it was that interesting anyway. 

“Well, you are a peculiar mech, Starscream,” Knockout said with a sly smile, clearly hinting at something. “I don't always follow your whims.”

“You pay half of the rent and I don't think I could stand to live with anyone else, so consider yourself safe,” Starscream scoffed. 

“Hm. Very well, then,” Knockout said but stretched out the words, playing time for himself. He glanced out of the window and then looked the seeker over once again as if he could see something this time around. “Have you tried to get a doctor's appointment lately?”

Starscream snorted. “Why would I when I live with you?”

“Exactly,” Knockout said. “Do you have any idea how few actual, licensed doctors there are left?”

“Very few is my understanding,” Starscream replied. “With the re-founding of the Science Academy and the amount of funds poured in its way I deduced that the situation is damn near critical. The variety too... Combat medics and nurses and self-taught bots are going to become licensed practitioners soon, and if that's not a desperate move I don't know what is. And yet... Here you are, a perfectly capable, able doctor assigned to work that has nothing to do with the field. How do you stand that is beyond me.”

Knockout listened to him with one optic ridge up, and once he fell silent he huffed in his vents. “Yes, yes, you're very smart. But I did arrive at a similar conclusion a long time ago myself, and I agree it is quite wasteful to tie my expert surgeon servos when our world is what it is.”

“Hm. That's just like you to fake attentive and agreeable and then run amok as the law turns its gaze away,” Starscream huffed with amusement. 

“There's no shortage of work, and the customers pay well,” Knockout said. “Not always in credits, but they pay. And the few who can't don't matter.”

“Well I suppose so since you have been able to get yourself more than enough good energon, computers, datapads and furniture,” Starscream concluded while vaguely gesturing at their surroundings. He hadn't missed how much he benefited from what ever Knockout ran around doing during his free cycles. “I still don't see what you were worried about though. Why not tell me sooner? I clearly have more to gain from holding my glossa than blabbering on you.”

“Well, hmm. That's the thing,” Knockout said and again seemed hesitant. 

Starscream couldn't bring himself to be insulted by the doubt, he knew he had earned all of it, and trying to peel the secret from the other would only complicate the matters further. Besides Starscream couldn't even imagine that Knockout was up to anything that would interest him that much, whatever it was was a curiosity at best but nothing that important. 

“The thing is that keeping a clinic without an actual establishment takes a lot of organizing and maintenance. On one scale that is good since what I'm doing is illegal and I don't want to be easy to pin down, but on the other I have to find my patients and not vice versa – and I really got used to the medical bay of the Nemesis, all that tech at my disposal at all times... Ah, the luxury...” Knockout rambled on. 

Starscream took a deep and loud intake of air to express his exasperation, and Knockout got the point, waving his servo in apology. 

“Anyway, so. Organizing. There's no way I could have done all of that on my own, and I probably would have settled on to just helping out a few occasional bots whom I happen to know, like tweaking your settings or giving a servo to the odd old crew member, but...” 

A suspicious, calculating glance again. Starscream cocked his optic ridges back. 

Knockout stared at him for a klik longer. “When it was my turn to pay a visit to Megatron in that prison of his we just chatted about meaningless things for a while, but then... I don't know what I said that made him think that I'm reliable in any way, but he referred me to Soundwave, and I did what he told and sought him out.”

Starscream's narrowed his optics. “And what of Soundwave?”

Knockout shrugged. “He too is a lot busier than the Council or our poor assigned social worker would like to think, and he is as quiet as ever. But he does give me work, he always has someone who called on him and he refers them to me, and I suppose I'm not surprised that either Soundwave's network survived the war or that he has already created a new one... But... Hmm.”

Starscream pondered on this for a moment. He realized quickly that he wasn't a bit surprised either, of course Soundwave had spun himself a web of some sort to fall back on, it was practically a second nature to him, and certain people probably sought him out themselves purely because of his reputation. But there was something else that bothered him in Knockout's tale, not the black market of medical expertise, not his association with Soundwave, but something else that was left unsaid, something that hid in between the lines. 

“I have just one question, my dear doctor,” Starscream slowly said. “How exactly did Megatron know Soundwave would have work for you? He hasn't had any contact with him for over a stellar cycle aside from the visitation.” 

Knockout was rubbing his palms together between his knees and glancing at Starscream, solemn and calculating. He was still walking on grenade shells, and Starscream wondered if he feared the mere mention of Megatron's designation had set off some sort of a timer in the seeker that was ticking down towards a fit of hysteria. 

“I suppose Megatron wouldn't have to know that,” Knockout suggested. “He could just trust Soundwave's nature as well as mine and prompt us to act accordingly.”

Starscream was having none of that. “Oh no, no no, Megatron doesn't pull at strings, he commands. He must have found a way to send messages out of that place, _that's_ the most likely explanation. And of course Soundwave follows.” He paused to think about it for a klik, long talons stroking his chin. “The question that remains is what else is he telling Soundwave to do, and who else is he sending messages to.”

Knockout leaned back on the couch and let himself relax against the back of it. He sighed deeply, and now it was his turn to stare up to the ceiling. “Starscream, could I ask something of you?”

The seeker narrowed his optics again and tried to read something, anything from the side of Knockout's faceplate he could see, even letting his EM field expand and reach out to try and read Knockout's, but all in vain. There was nothing additional to read, nothing to uncover, so Starscream gathered himself again and dived in blindly. “It depends. You can always ask, but that doesn't mean I'll do what you ask of me.”

Knockout nodded, and still staring up to the ceiling said: “Would you promise me not to jump into whatever it is that's cooking up here?”

Starscream frowned. “I don't know what you mean.”

Knockout let his helm loll to the side and he gave the other a serious look. “Yes, you do. All this discussion about Megatron and his supposed actions behind the scenes... Plus the scrap going on with the protests and bombs. Please don't get wrapped up in it, I know you'd love to, but don't.”

“I'm not getting wrapped up in anything,” Starscream argued, but Knockout kept staring at him with that grim look in his optics, and in that moment it dawned to Starscream why Knockout had kept all of this a secret. “I don't care about Megatron or what he's up to. He's a defeated, disgraced warlord struggling in the hold of a society that doesn't give praise to those whose only talent is putting swords through bots. Let him rust.” 

“I know you,” Knockout said slowly, the words weighing heavy on his tone. “I know playing these games with high stakes amuses you and you want to win them, but you must give that up. There's nothing to gain here except falling back into chaos. You have to rid your programming of that kind of thinking.”

Starscream didn't try to argue against that, in fact he didn't care that much anymore either. What he was interested in was Knockout's tone and how his words were so heavy with intent, something he didn't think he had heard before. He hadn't heard Knockout pleading ever before, and it sparked his interest: was this new or just something else that had remained a secret?

“You care about me, don't you, my dear doctor?” he quietly asked. 

Knockout huffed, rolled his optics and leaned his helm back again. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

*

“I don't know how you keep doing things like this,” Ratchet huffed, slightly disapprovingly but also a little impressed while he brewed energon in his kitchen. 

Jazz laughed a good-natured laugh, didn't confirm or deny anything like always, but enjoyed the recognition. “You shouldn't mind about the little details, Ratchet! But I hope I didn't intrude? I know you promised and I held you accountable, but perhaps you were so sure I couldn't come through with it...?”

Ratchet huffed again and rolled his optics while he carried shiny yet scratched metal bowls to his small table where Jazz was sitting and placed them into the setting with the sweetener cup and the little treats Jazz had brought along with him. “I have waited this long to see Optimus, I can wait a little bit longer. At my age one learns patience. Besides I trust you had something really important to discuss, you wouldn't hurry that much unless it was important.”

“Yes, that is true,” Jazz admitted. “But still, I am sorry.”

“No need,” Ratchet noted lightly when he walked back into the kitchen to get the brew. “I'll see him tomorrow, and that is quite enough for me.”

“He misses you too,” Jazz said. 

“I know, you told me already,” Ratchet said but was clearly pleased to hear it again. He came back with a heavy, clunky pot from his second-hand brewer and poured the thick, rich blue fuel into the bowls before sitting down on his own place, finally settling down. 

Jazz was reaching for the treats and the sweetener at the same time and hurriedly mixed his drink, either very thirsty or very anxious. Ratchet waited his hassle out before reaching out and taking one spoonful of sweetener for his brew and out of politeness a treat from the tray Jazz had brought, inspecting it.

“I don't know how you do it, but I will not complain. Or ask, really,” Ratchet noted before eating the piece of candy. The little cube of jelly-like energon tasted fresh and exactly like the little store-bought candies he recalled bringing to the office before the war. Nostalgia was overwhelming. 

“Even if you asked, I wouldn't tell,” Jazz cheerfully noted, tossing one treat in the air and catching it in his intake. “Let's just say that I learned some special skills in my old occupation, and I looked after resources as an officer, so I know my way around.”

“Well as long as you won't get yourself or anyone else in trouble...” Ratchet said while stirring his brew.

“Oh don't worry, everything I do is perfectly legal!” Jazz assured. “It's all about knowing where to look and playing your cards right.”

“I'm sure it is,” Ratchet said and left the matter be. 

They sipped their brews and sampled the treats in a comfortable silence for a moment, but even with the relaxed atmosphere there was an undercurrent of expectations there, only the approach was unclear. Funnily enough Ratchet had actually been friends with Jazz longer than with Optimus but he didn't have as much in common with Jazz as he did with Optimus, and even more curiously it was Jazz who had originally introduced them. 

“So. Are you excited to meet Optimus, finally?” Jazz asked as he set his bowl back on the table and reached towards the treats again.

“Very much so,” Ratchet replied. “It feels like it's been ages.”

“Sorry for stealing your turn like that.”

“Oh no, no no, I promised,” Ratchet said firmly, “besides, to you it truthfully was ages. We have all been apart for a very long time. I was lucky enough to be by his side all this time.”

“Yeah, well, a good medic is a crucial part to any team,” Jazz said. “But don't worry, I'm not too envious of you either, a commando mission that lasted that long sounds quite frankly pretty awful. And on an inhabited alien world too, for extra challenge.”

“Well, things must not be too easy,” Ratchet chuckled. 

“I was much better off aboard a space ship. And I wasn't bored either, encounters were rare but they happened, and after we abandoned the Ark there certainly wasn't any vacant space either,” Jazz chatted away. He seemed to be full of stories about various encounters, troubles and oddities throughout the war, and after such a long time it wasn't that surprising. What was strange was to think that their entire race had been scattered across the vast universe and still managed to run into each other, and even stranger was the thought that for a very long time there had been Cybertronians everywhere except on their homeworld. 

“Everyone has been through a lot,” Ratchet said aloud. “It will take decades for the historians to gather a full picture of what was really going on.”

“Most likely. And so much of it is lost,” Jazz said. “Think about it. How many of us wandered into space so far away they are beyond the reach of subspace signals and all the star maps ever made? How many perished there? How many groups of Autobots and Decepticons ran into each other, demolished each other and now float around up there as space junk? How many husks just orbit some undiscovered world?”

“There could be more colonies like the Red Star out there but perhaps on a planet,” Ratchet pointed out in an uncharacteristic show of optimism.

Jazz smiled. “Maybe. Maybe after a hundred or a thousand or a hundred thousand stellar cycles we'll make contact with a remote civilization that was sparked during the war.”

“That's a nice thought.”

“Yes, it is. We could all use a bit of hopeful thinking nowadays. Optimus would agree.”

And so they were back at Optimus again. Ratchet sipped his brew glancing at Jazz over the brim of the bowl and thought that Jazz really had something to say about the subject judging by the way he gravitated towards it. “Yes, he probably would. Optimus has a tendency to see hope wherever he looks.”

“Do you think... Even in places where it doesn't exist?” Jazz asked.

Ratchet set his bowl down, frowning. “I don't know. I may be too pessimistic to always agree with him, but he isn't naive either so I would say he has a way of allowing the benefit of a doubt without being afraid what it might result in.” 

“Hm. Right. So... you think it's just courage?” Jazz asked. 

Ratchet shrugged. “I don't know about 'just', but Optimus is a very brave mech. He is willing to give those second chances and allow everyone to choose their path freely without trying to mold it, even with the knowledge someone might and eventually will choose to abuse that. It's the way he is.” He paused and nibbled a corner of one treat. “Did anyone tell you about that time on Earth he gave Starscream a chance to join us?”

Jazz coughed into his brew and spattered harshly right after, spilling some on the table before setting the bowl down quickly and hurrying to wipe his faceplate. “Are we talking about the same Starscream here!?” 

The corner of Ratchet's intake tugged upwards a little and he nodded. “It's a long story, but as you know Starscream isn't exactly renowned for his loyalty. At one point he offered to join our ranks.”

“And how did that go?” Jazz asked with raised optic ridges.

Shaking his helm Ratchet huffed. “Not well. It lasted less than a solar cycle, but in all fairness I must say it wasn't entirely his fault. You see, he terminated Cliffjumper, and Arcee took it rather heavily. She chased him away.” 

“I can't say I blame her,” Jazz noted with a shrug.

“Me neither.”

They paused again, sipped some brew and Ratchet watched Jazz tapping his digits against the tabletop, clearly itching to say something. 

Finally Ratchet had had enough of the fidgeting. “Is something the matter?” he asked. 

Jazz gave him a tight smile that told he was aware of what he was doing, perhaps even doing it on purpose so he wouldn't have to initiate anything. “Well, I think we're on the brink of something. I mean... We have to acknowledge it, right?” 

“Acknowledge what?”

“The Optimus and Megatron thing.”

Ratchet gave Jazz a flat look. “What thing?”

Jazz rolled his helm on his shoulders and leaned forward eagerly. “C'mon, the thing. They are living together and we both know what Optimus is like. He's trying to get to him and... fix him, or something akin to that.”

Ratchet offlined his optics briefly and released a suffering sigh. “I am aware. That is Optimus' nature, don't think I don't know. I've watched his and Megatron's battles very closely for the last... I don't even know how long.”

“And as established, Optimus is still willing to give him a chance. I talked about it with him last week,” Jazz said within a sigh and gave a small shake of his helm at that. Ratchet could sympathize with the feeling.

“Trust me, I know better than most. They have... a history. And I have seen what Megatron does to Optimus, in every way. There's... something in there that has always complicated things even further,” Ratchet grimly recited. “I'm not entirely sure, but I do think that Optimus is not only unwilling to terminate Megatron, but incapable of doing so. He just can't bring himself to do it, despite everything that monster has done.”

Jazz hummed agreeably and took yet another treat from the tray. Almost half of them were already gone, and Ratchet had eaten only one.

“They used to be friends,” Jazz noted. “Maybe that's it.”

Ratchet let out a loud harrumph to show exactly what he thought about that. “And that's partially thanks to you! You should have never taken him to Kaon.”

“He would have found a way to go anyway, I just made sure he had the right documents,” Jazz pointed out but didn't seem to care. 

“I'm worried about Optimus,” Ratchet sighed. 

“You and me both.”

“He's going to run himself to the ground trying to turn that blasted mech's helm. He shouldn't even be there in the first place!”

Jazz had to nod at the sentiment. In some ways the current arrangement felt disrespectful by any and all moral concepts. “Yeah, I know, to think that the Court would sentence a matrix-bearing Prime to prison – “

“Optimus shouldn't even be a Prime anymore!” Ratchet snapped.

A frown came to Jazz's faceplate and he seemed to be at loss of words. Ratchet huffed in frustration and waved his servo. 

“I didn't mean it like that,” he said. “Optimus has done his duty. He got us through the war, he has even led us back to our homeworld and let us start over in peace. And yet still? Still he's burdened with everything, still made to carry the weight alone, like he has turned into some sort of a cosmic ransom that has to be paid or everything will be lost again!” His voice gained force and emotion until it cracked, and he fell silent again. Jazz didn't say anything. Ratchet took a few deep, calming intakes of air and rebooted his vocalizer. 

“What I'm trying to say is he should be allowed to be himself again. Optimus is a mech just like any other. Couldn't he just be allowed to be simply Optimus now?”

“I don't know if that's even possible,” Jazz quietly said, digits tapping at the tabletop again. “All the previous Primes were Primes as long as they functioned, and Optimus is the matrix-bearer no less. I don't think he can just give that up and go back to being a librarian again. He's not that bot anymore.”

“I know that,” Ratchet mumbled. “As if anyone on this world is what they used to be, I know I'm not. But... Jazz, can you really say it doesn't bother you? How Optimus is forced to live as a prisoner with Megatron? He set out to defeat Megatron, and now he's being punished alongside him as if they were one and the same!”

A thoughtful hum came out of Jazz's vocalizer and he lifted his bowl to his lipplates again. There was a light frown on his faceplate, and Ratchet could tell he was furiously thinking and trying to decide what to say. He could also tell that at least in some ways Jazz didn't agree with him. 

After an exaggeratedly long sip Jazz finally set the bowl back down and made an effort to speak his mind while Ratchet impatiently waited. When the younger finally lifted his optics to meet his, Ratchet guessed he was still hiding something.

“I think that Optimus knows what he is doing and what his angle is. And I also think that he doesn't personally suffer of this current arrangement like you do,” Jazz carefully said, “and I think you should see for yourself tomorrow. Perhaps he'll open up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate your continuing interest in my work. <3  
> Maybe click that kudos button if you like this, and maybe even talk to me in the comments. I'm eager to hear your thoughts and opinions!


	28. Family matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! Thank you all for your kudos and comments, and for the likes and especially reblogs on Tumblr! It's so wonderful to see how many actually read this monster of a work. :>
> 
> Now, for the long-awaited reunion of Ratchet and Optimus. I hope you enjoy~
> 
> ([I also have a tumblr.](http://zombieheroine.tumblr.com/))

The moment was finally here and if you asked Ratchet it was definitely an unforgivable amount of time late, but that was now irrelevant, because here he was, just klikcycles away from meeting Optimus for the first time in two stellar cycles. 

He rode the elevator up with a still very quiet and reserved Soundwave without trading one word or even a look during the ride. Ratchet was already very familiar with Downshift whom he had been in frequent contact with about Bumblebee and Smokescreen and on the side about his own business, and they greeted each other with nods before the younger mech started to brief him about the various safety precautions in place. Ratchet just nodded along them too, accepting every rule and regulation no matter how petty or unnecessary, and in the end really the only thing he really had to know and follow was to not to touch the glass or take anything Optimus might try to give him. 

All the formalities were finally out of the way and the legalities taken care of, and then Downshift let Ratchet into the room and closed the door after him.

It surprised Ratchet how dignified and yet so prison-like the visitation space was. He scoffed to himself about the Department of Justice or whoever made the decisions about these things and how some poor paranoid slagger had decided to waste an entire floor for this. The glass cubicle standing in the middle of the space was like a manifestation of fear itself: Whoever had decided about it had locked Optimus inside a box like he was some sort of a weapon of mass destruction that had to be contained or someone might use him, and Ratchet was almost surprised they had thought to give this war machine a chair to sit on. 

“Optimus,” Ratchet sighed in delight when he finally reached the cubicle, “it's been too long.”

Optimus was standing by the glass and smiled brightly at him. “Yes it has, old friend.”

For a moment they enjoyed their reunion with warm smiles even with the enforced glass between them twisting the moment, but otherwise the meeting felt like a rest stop during a long and difficult drive. The moment ended only when Optimus extended a servo gesturing to the chair brought out for the visitor and wordlessly asking Ratchet to sit down. When Ratchet did, so did he.

Ratchet smiled brighter and more than he had in many moon cycles. “How are you doing, Optimus?”

“As well as one can expect,” Optimus reassured him. “I hear Ultra Magnus is working very hard, and I've gotten many regards through him. Arcee is looking after the younger mechs and that's great but I miss them all greatly. I wish I could be there. It seems that you are adapting.”

“Everything is fine, don't worry about that too much!” Ratchet said. “We miss you too, but for a time being we'll make this work. You know us, we'll make due with what we have!”

Optimus smiled. “Experience is a precious thing. You never know how you'll use it when you're acquiring it.”

Ratchet chuckled. “Yes, life is curious in that way. I worry about the younger ones, they are growing very restless very fast, and they are in Decepticon company most of their cycles. They should go to school and not work with these... assignments.” He shook his helm at the state of things in worry even though he knew that a share of it were just possibilities and his own fears. He simply couldn't help worrying since these things were happening there right in front of him and he knew that Smokescreen especially was a rash, impressionable young mech. 

“I'm sure they will get into a school in no time. Time is not at scarce anymore,” Optimus said. “But if you're worried, you should speak with Arcee about it.”

“Oh I have,” Ratchet replied, perking up. “She and I keep the younger ones busy when they are not working. Neither one knows what they would like to study if they could go to school, but we've been passing down our knowledge and guiding them all we can. Truth be told I suppose Arcee would like to attend a school too.” He wasn't sure if this was what he was supposed to tell Optimus as it was just his own assumption, but he chatted away anyway. If he had learned anything in the past two stellar cycles it was that mundane everyday things were precious treasures that could be lost at any time. 

Optimus didn't seem to mind the chatter but fell into it just as easily as if they had been sitting at a table sipping brew or walking in a park. “Keeping them busy is most likely the best you can do. Keep them looking towards the future and give them something to do, that's all you can do. It's not like you could start limiting their company or forbid them from thinking after all.”

“True, true,” Ratchet sighed. “I just... wish they could just go on and have normal lives without getting mixed up into anything stupid out of boredom or desperation. I've heard some of their coworkers have had blackmarket upgrades and modifications done. I know he doesn't complain about it but that vocalizer still bothers Bee...”

“You're worrying too much, my friend,” Optimus gently intercepted. 

Ratchet snapped his drooping helm up in surprise and then laughed hastily. “You're right, but I'm afraid there's no helping it in my age! Someone has to do the worrying, don't you think?” 

“We all know how much you care, you don't have to worry about that,” Optimus reassured him with a kind smile. 

Ratchet sighed. He was genuinely happy to see Optimus and talk to him about everything, but these things he carried around were heavy, constant, and they didn't go away by talking. He wondered if talking about them even made them lighter or if he was even talking about the right things in the first place. Was he holding himself back from talking about the truly serious things out of fear nothing would change even if he did?   
But more importantly, he was in a company of a friend whom he hadn't been able to see in a long time and wasn't going to see again that quickly either, and just talking about misery and worries would have been wasting this precious cycle they had. 

“Ah... I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner, but Jazz had something important he wanted to discuss,” Ratchet said, changing the subject. 

Optimus followed his lead effortlessly. “So he did, and he is sorry he took your turn like that even though he felt it was important.”

Ratchet rolled his optics. “I should have known he would be able to snatch the turn from me, but oh no I had to say that if he finds a way then he can have it... Of course he found a way!” But through his disapproval he still chuckled, and Optimus joined him. 

“I'm lucky to have such good friends,” Optimus said. “Don't be mad at him, he really had something to talk to me about so it wasn't for nothing. I'm glad you're here.”

Ratchet perked up. “What did you talk about? Jazz demanded a chance to meet you and made it sound like he had gotten off the comm with Primus Themselves.”

Optimus huffed a quiet laugh and shook his helm. “Well he wasn't bringing in mystical secrets, that I can assure you of.”

“Strictly mortal business then.”

“Yes. We mostly discussed my situation and... Well, Megatron,” Optimus said, hesitating a bit with the designation of the other prisoner.

Ratchet narrowed his optics and clicked his glossa. “It doesn't take a genius to tell you what to do with him. I doubt Jazz had some unheard of secret insight on the subject.”

“Of course not, but I value his council on the matter,” Optimus said. 

Megatron was perhaps the last subject Ratchet wanted to discuss or think about right now, but he seemed to have become something that couldn't be avoided. Megatron had managed to get everywhere, he was relevant in everything, on every issue and in every conflict in one way or another, if not as a culprit or a revolutionist, then somehow as an omnipresent force that was linked to everything. Whether Ratchet liked it or not, Megatron had shaped their history and even now, defeated and imprisoned, he had managed to link himself this tightly with Optimus. 

“I hope whatever Jazz had to say helped you,” Ratchet finally said.

Optimus shrugged and sighed. “To be honest I think he supported me more than offered actual useful advice on the matter. I don't think anyone can actually help me with this one.”

Ratchet felt a sting in his spark at that and wanted to break the protocol to touch the glass. “Optimus, there's always help. All you have to do is ask,” he said. 

Optimus smiled kindly at him. “I know. And I know I can trust you. I value your council and your company immensely, my friend,” he said sincerely, but then grew more serious. “It's just... There are things that are very complicated. And maybe they are allowed to be complicated, maybe they are meant to be like that, and perhaps the entire purpose is that one makes their decisions about these sorts of things by themselves...”

Ratchet scoffed at him with a smile. “You're speaking in riddles, Optimus. It's a bad habit of yours when you are thinking very hard about something, or when you want support but don't quite dare to ask.” 

“Ah, sorry,” Optimus said hurriedly and dropped his gaze. “But I really do think that. I must decide about this one myself, there's no way around it.”

“Well, if there's no way around does there appear to be a way through?” Ratchet asked.

Optimus seemed to consider this for a moment in the same manner he thought about their next moves as a team or when he was decoding something. He had one leg resting on top of another and his pede swung as he thought. 

“I think I won't even try to untangle this one,” he finally said. “I think I can manage it without forcing it to become uncomplicated. To be complicated is in its nature, so I'm going to let it be.” 

Ratchet wasn't really convinced and gave a slight shook of his helm, but shrugged afterwards. “Well, it's your decision. As long as you're true to yourself and your feelings, I... suppose that's it.”

Optimus smiled at him, and silence followed. Something shifted in the room and it was like something was let out from between them, and a strain neither had noticed before was suddenly gone. Ratchet wasn't entirely sure what it was about but he was glad it was gone now. 

“So. How is teaching working out for you?” Optimus asked with a curious smile. 

Ratchet groaned. “It's not really working, in all honesty.”

Optimus suppressed a laugh behind his servo.

“Oh you shut it. Have you ever tried to control a room full of bots and try to make them listen to you long enough that you could teach them something?!” Ratchet demanded while shaking his helm.

“No, I must confess that I have not,” Optimus said with a smile. “I have never been much of a teacher. How is it going?”

Ratchet scoffed to himself and thought about it. The work place wasn't disagreeable but actually almost cozy compared to just about everything he had experienced in the past million or so stellar cycles, and all of his operating theaters and laboratories had been mostly awful during that time too. He didn't like crowds and he didn't like noise, but teaching was something valuable to do. 

“Well. Hm. I think it's going passably well,” he begrudgingly admitted. “There are many eager to learn, and in a few stellar cycles we'll have a new generation of medical apprentices.”

“That is great. That's what we need now, more professionals, probably in every field,” Optimus said. He seemed slightly relieved by the news, and Ratchet wondered if it was because things were going well or if he had been worried about how Ratchet was adapting to his job assignment. 

“What is going to be a hassle is to get them to become professionals in something useful,” Ratchet said. “It seems everyone wants to be a doctor, and all anyone wants to do is surgery. But that's only a small field, and we need so many different skills too. Like research.”

“I'm sure they'll find their place, if not now because of your guidance, then later when they realize there's no room for all of them in one small field, and that they themselves don't fit there after all,” Optimus assured him. “Besides one would think a chance to move to Crystal City will eventually draw many in to the field of research.”

Ratchet shrugged and sighed to himself. He had had many conversations about this particular subject, and while Optimus wasn't wrong about the appeal of Crystal City there were other matters at play. “Crystal City will always draw bots there, but I'm afraid they have just published the one final thing that anyone will care to research.”

“Oh, I read about that on Echo,” Optimus solemnly said. “The Well is still dark, isn't it?”

Ratchet nodded. “We already knew that, but now we know it extra well since they did research on it,” he scoffed with a roll of his optics. “Cybertron is a living planet, that's for sure. The metals and minerals go through their cycles and new energon is made in the depths, it's just that the Well is dark. If you manage to find a religious scholar somewhere they would probably tell you all kinds of horrible truths based on that.”

Optimus hummed in thought and leaned back on his seat. He was obviously thinking about the subject but either didn't have much to say about it or had too much to say and now combed through it to find the best way to put it. “I'm not a spiritual bot myself, but I like to think that if something like Primus wants something, They will make Their will known. Not that it matters, and since energon springs and mines are productive we will go on.”

Ratchet threw his servos in the air. “That's what I'm trying to tell everyone! Besides research is always valuable, they just have not studied enough yet to see its value. Phah, young bitlets, thinking they know everything...”

Optimus's shoulders jumped with a chuckle and Ratchet joined in it even though he tried not to. Sharing a laugh helped them both loosen up, and even though the topic had grown heavy again they carried that weight and made it more bearable together. Ratchet certainly hoped he was easing the younger mech's burden with his chatter and presence and that he wasn't here to just waste his time.

“Is there anything I can do for you now, Optimus?” Ratchet asked in what he hoped was a casual manner and internally flinched when Optimus immediately shook his helm.

“Oh no, I'm thankful that you ask, my friend, but just your company and your continuing friendship is more than enough,” Optimus replied. 

Ratchet gave him a hard, searching look. “Are you sure?”

Optimus returned his gaze with a kind look and a reassuring smile. “Yes, I'm sure. Thank you.”

Begrudgingly Ratchet had to let the matter be and settle back down in his chair with a grumpy mutter. He regarded his younger friend for a moment with a measuring look before sighing. 

“Who would have thought that you would get this independent and strong despite being younger than I am.”

A playful little smirk passed Optimus' features at the comment and he shrugged. “One learns.”

“Sometimes one has to,” Ratchet mused and shook his helm again. Another sigh pushed its way out of his vents. “Well, sometimes matters can't be helped, and sometimes even the best of physicians can't weld some damage. That... that one's the hardest lesson to learn. That there is such a thing as impossible.” He stared at the floor, picking at his digits and let himself lag behind in the memories and emotions that welled around him. 

He knew the feeling of a live frame suddenly running cold and still. He knew what it looked like when energon just wanted to escape the circulation system and there was nothing to be done about it. He knew what it was like to hold a young mech while having his own digits sunken into his torn windpipe and try and seal everything up so he wouldn't run dry. He stared at the floor and let all of it well around him, to drown him for a klik like a wave as he held his vents shut, waiting for it to pass. 

And pass it did, it always did, and Ratchet sighed for the third time. 

“You are a very selfless mech, Ratchet,” Optimus said, his voice piercing through the moody veil Ratchet threatened to be lost behind. “And very capable. We are glad to have you in our family. But please, try to remember that you don't have to fix everything. Sometimes things need to be allowed to break down, and sometimes fixing isn't the right thing to do to something.”

“Hmm yes yes, I remember,” Ratchet mumbled at that and leaned his chin on his servo. “I know that if I'm holding a welder then suddenly every slightly gnarled seam starts looking like something to be fixed. But Optimus, please do me one favor.”

“What is it?”

“You think that as a doctor I'm selfless even though I'm just doing my job. Please do remember that sometimes you too are allowed to be selfish. I...” He paused. It was difficult to find the right words to say this since he wasn't so sure he completely believed them, but this wasn't about what he believed or thought, this was about his friend and what he needed to hear. “Even if there's no going back to how things were, there's always the future and the future can look like whatever you want. Don't be afraid to shape it just because you have been assigned a duty, okay?”

Optimus had a very curious expression on him after that, and he tiled his helm to the side as he regarded Ratchet with totally new optics. “Thank you,” he said. 

Ratchet lifted his optic ridges. “Really?”

Optimus nodded. “Yes. I know I can't downgrade myself. Sure I could get rid of the armor and be fitted into a smaller frame and change the titanium and the swords into something more modest, but that won't turn back time or transform me back into someone who doesn't know what armor feels like or how to use a sword. But there's still forward.”

“Yes,” Ratchet heard himself agreeing, “there's always forward. Somehow, somewhere, as long as we keep moving.”

Now it was Optimus' turn to sigh, and he shook his helm just the tiniest bit when he relaxed back on his seat and turned his flickering gaze upwards. “I'm sorry I can't go back to the archivist I was.”

The notion was terrible but whether it was because of the apology or because it was directed at him, Ratchet didn't know and didn't care, just hurried to refuse it: “No no, there's nothing to be sorry for! It's just... Hm. Look, Optimus, we've known each other for a long time. Bots change. But I can promise you, whatever the future will be like, you'll always be my friend.”

Optimus smiled warmly. “Likewise.”

*

It had been an incredibly stressful few weeks for Bulkhead, and being grilled by his boss wasn't making it any easier. On top of working a long cycle at the construction site he was now stalled in the office of the project helm and interrogated and yelled at about things he knew nothing about, and he was quickly running out of patience. 

“You understand that there's a lot of pressure on me too for having you here,” the boss Padlock said for the umpteenth time. “I wouldn't unless it wasn't for the Court's orders, and you understand that it's very, very important that this goes as planned.”

“Yes, sir,” Bulkhead replied while staring over Padlock's helm. 

Padlock seemed to only become more irritated and anxious by Bulkhead's stern, short replies and he sighed again. “It would be better for you too to cooperate.”

“I don't know where Wheeljack is, sir,” Bulkhead repeated once again. It felt like basic training again, answering the same question over and over again, and it was really starting to grind in his gears. 

Padlock narrowed his optics at him. “It says here in my file that you to were assigned here together because you used to work on this field together before the war, and that you have a balancing effect on your friend. It seems to me that if someone knows where our lost worker is it's gonna be you.”

“I don't know, sir.”

Padlock let out an irritated grumble and turned back to his computer screen on his desk. The screen was angled away from Bulkhead so he couldn't see what the other was supposedly clicking or pulling up there, and Bulkhead would have been willing to bet credits on that it was a whole lot of nothing. The office was a small and cramped one built inside a transportation crate, and still Padlock tried to make him believe he was somehow directly working with the Justice Department and wielded their authority like it was his own. 

“You know I will be forced to report his disappearance if I don't know where he is and he has no legitimate reason to be absent from work,” Padlock said, still staring at the screen. “I gotta treat you all equally after all, and this just can't go on. I'm sure you want to help your friend, and I want to help him too, so if you just say where he is we can just make it official and work from there. That sound okay?”

Bulkhead squeezed his servos into fists by his sides. “I don't know where he is, sir.”

Padlock didn't look happy with the response. His lipplates pressed into a harsh line and he narrowed his optics again, his entire frame tense in a way that made him look just about ready to reach over the desk and shake Bulkhead. He wasn't big enough to do that but he looked angry enough to give it a try. “Look, Bulkhead... You know I appreciate bots like you working here. We need someone to do the heavy lifting and show the new-comers the ropes, and you're it. You are valuable to us just like this, and so is your friend. We need our explosives technician back, even if it's only part-time, and I'm sure the court would be pleased with that, as long as we knew where he is.”

“I don't know where he is, sir.” 

Padlock huffed through his flaring vents and looked more and more agitated. “You know what? It would just be good for you to tell me the truth! I'm trying to work with you here, don't you see?! And even if you don't see that, let me tell you this: there will always be others willing to do the heavy lifting, and there will be other explosives technicians, so why don't you just tell me where Wheeljack is and we can all put this behind us without an incident,“ Padlock said, his servo drawing towards the keyboard and meaningfully tapping something on his computer like it was a direct line to Primus Themselves.

“I don't know where he is!” Bulkhead snapped, louder than he had meant to but too irritated to care, and Padlock jumped on his seat at his sudden outburst. “I don't know where he is! He's gone! He just left! And you know what?! Maybe he was right to do so! Jackie is a war hero, he's a hero and not a blasted criminal or just another explosives expert that can be replaced!”

“Okay, okay,” Padlock hurried so say with his servos up, “let's take it easy here, okay? Let's not do anything rushed.” 

Bulkhead huffed and grumbled and crossed his arms. Padlock looked like he was trembling a bit. Bulkhead rolled his optics. 

“I'm going to have to file a report on this,” Padlock said with a small voice, “I respect you, okay? It was my war too, you know. Maybe not in the front lines, but it's not like there was really any place behind the lines either. No one will look good in this report.” 

“I understand, sir,” Bulkhead muttered, rubbing the back of his helm. “I'll try to call a few friends and see if I can find him.”

“You do that. Actually, take a couple of solar cycles off to do that, yeah?” Padlock said. He was clearly suspicious of him but seemed to have given up on forcing information that Bulkhead didn't have out of him, and that was a minor upside in itself. 

“Will do, sir,” Bulkhead agreed in a sigh and turned to leave. 

“And if he has skipped town you know he will be arrested, right? Don't do anything stupid, we want you back here!” Padlock called after him.

Bulkhead just raised his servo in goodbye and walked out.

When he got out almost everyone from his shift had already cleared off, but he had little doubt that some had stayed to listen in hopes of gossip. Wheeljack's absence was an open secret by now, one that everyone had taken a note of but no one dared to bring up, at least not around Bulkhead. There were probably theories and rumors like there always were, probably of a transfer or an escape, and wouldn't that be a tale to tell during fuel breaks. 

But Bulkhead had had just about enough. He was still irritated about the long, fruitless and one-sided argument with Padlock and it wasn't clearing off even when he walked down the street and cycled fresh air. Oh no, this was it, he was going to find Wheeljack no matter what it took, and he would get some answers. He had stopped by his door many times during the past few weeks, but he was never home and even if he was he didn't answer the door, and Bulkhead had thought that it was fine, he probably needed his own space and some rest, he had gotten used to the free-roaming lifestyle after all, but this was going too far. Now it was time get serious, and he would break down his door if he had to. 

He arrived at the building and to his surprise there was something a bit unusual going on. The front door was chained open, there was a large vehicle parked in front of it despite how much room it took in the narrow street, and there were bots carrying furniture and boxes down from the stairs and loading them into the vehicle. Bulkhead got an uneasy feeling in the bottom of his tank when he regarded this, and when he approached he recognized one of the bots in the group to be the janitor of the building. He was just standing there holding a large ring full of keycards and seemed to be overseeing the procedure. Bulkhead walked up to him.

“Um, hello, excuse me,” he began, “but what's going on?”

The janitor gave him a shrug and gestured at the sight before them as if it spoke for itself. “One of the residents here hasn't paid their rent or answered any calls or messages, and the waiting period has ended. We've notified them of the end of the lease and are emptying their apartment since they haven't done so themselves. All of this - “ he gestured at the current of furniture and other stuff, “- is legally the landlord's property and it's going to be sold off.”

“Ah, okay. I see,” Bulkhead muttered, gave a polite nod to the janitor and wished him good day before stepping by the working bots into the hallway. He was still feeling uneasy and the feeling didn't relent, on a contrary it only got stronger the more it brewed in his tank, and before he knew it Bulkhead was running up the stairs three steps at a time until he finally reached Wheeljack's floor. 

All of his worrying proved to be right, because a familiar door was wide open and had a stack of boxes next to it. There was no one to be seen. 

For a moment Bulkhead just stood there without knowing what to do. He stared ahead while his thoughts rang empty, and minor despair threatened to take a hold of him right then and there in that narrow hallway, and for a klik he feared he might crumble at any moment. But before he had time to succumb to the terrible feeling he forced himself to snap out of it and fumbled for his comm link. Once he did that the panic that had almost gotten to him let go, pushed back by concrete action instead of paralysis, and at that moment Bulkhead suddenly knew who he needed to contact. 

It took only about thirty kliks for Arcee to pick up her comm, and relief flooded Bulkhead's spark when he heard her voice greet him. He got his pedes moving again, yanked them off the floor and forced them to carry him back to the stairs and out to the streets again. 

“Hello?” Arcee said. 

“Ah, hey there, Arcee,” Bulkhead said back with forced cheeriness and awkwardly reset his vocalizer. “How are things going for you?”

“Fine, I guess,” the femme replied but on her guard; she must have sensed something was off. “Smokescreen and Bumblebee just came home from work, it was a tough day and they are napping. I've got a day off. How are you?”

“Ah, well...” Bulkhead said, feeling awful for catching her on her day off with such bad news. “Well I just got off from work too, but listen, I got to ask a favor.”

“Bulk, I can hear something isn't right. Just ask, I'll be there,” Arcee promised right away. 

Bulkhead let out a long sigh. “It's Jackie. He... He hasn't showed up to work in an entire moon cycle, maybe even more, and today I was about to finally go and break down his door but his apartment is being emptied, and I just heard not even the landlord has heard from him in over a moon cycle, and so he's been kicked out. He didn't even show up to get his stuff!”

Arcee was quiet for entire three kliks at her end, then a short decisive huff rattled the line. “Where are you? I'll meet you within the next cycle.”

“Just... Come near the west gate of the Memorial Park, 'k?”

“Copy that. And Bulk?”

“Yeah?”

“We'll figure this out. I'll see you soon.”

Bulkhead got to the meeting place quickly and he didn't have to wait long until he saw Arcee's familiar two-wheeler alt form speeding down the street and towards him. She probably broke a few traffic laws on the side when she shifted through the lanes, jumped and transformed in the air, but at least she already had pedes under her when she landed on the sidewalk. Bots passing by gave her both disapproving and secretly impressed looks. 

“Tell me everything,” Arcee demanded the moment she got to Bulkhead. 

“I... Uh... Jackie's missing,” Bulkhead said bluntly. He didn't really know where to begin untangling the mess that he held in his servos, and Arcee's blazing gaze made him shrink in his armour. 

“I got that much,” Arcee said while measuring Bulkhead with her gaze. Eventually she seemed to come to a conclusion that the street was not the right place, because she sighed and then turned to smile up at him. “Come. Let's find a better place for this, it sounds like it'll be a long story.” She reached to touch Bulkhead's servo and then led the way to the quiet of the Memorial Park. Bulkhead had no choice but to follow her. 

The Park turned out to be a good choice because the klik they stepped away from the noise and the crowd of the streets and into the shelter of the noise-canceling walls and open space, Bulkhead felt himself unwinding and like he could cycle air freely again. He followed Arcee along the path and they sat at the first vacant bench they came across. 

“Now, tell me everything,” Arcee repeated, arms crossed and one leg resting on her knee.

Bulkhead took a deep invent of air, released it and got to it. “I thought I could help him, but he's gone rogue. Jackie stopped coming to work almost a moon cycle ago, he hasn't answered his door and he's offlined his comm, I think. I left him be all this time 'cause I just thought he needed some rest, some space and then he'd come around like always.” As he spoke, Bulkhead started to his horror realize how much of this mess was actually his fault. He had just assumed it would fix itself and left it seething, and now it had finally cracked and spilled everywhere when he should have gotten up and done something a long ago. “Ah...” he stammered and glanced at Arcee with a guilty look in his optics. 

Arcee gave him a soft smile, sensing his discomfort. “It's okay. Just tell me, we'll fix this.”

So Bulkhead did. He told about the empty apartment and what Wheeljack had been like for a long while before he had finally disappeared, he talked about his own helplessness and discomfort, and finally even about what Optimus had said about the whole ordeal when he had visited. Arcee listened to the whole flood without making a single comment, just watched him keenly and nodded along, and when Bulkhead was finally done she was bouncing her leg and chewing at the insides of her intake.

“Wheeljack, you slagger,” she muttered under her breath. 

Bulkhead was surprised. “You're... angry?”

“Damn right I'm angry,” Arcee replied. “Wheeljack's really done a number on all of us and especially on you this time! That damn block of cast iron, to just disappear like this and leave the rest of us worrying! Besides, he can't just wish the legal stuff away. Oh Primus below I hope he hasn't actually skipped town!” She was cussing up towards the sky with a sour voice, and Bulkhead had to admit that he hadn't expected this.

“You don't... You don't think anything has happened to him?” he asked.

Arcee huffed through her vents and gave him a sad look. “I guess that's possible, but I don't think so. Based on what you just told me this has been coming for a long time, but now he's found a place to bury himself to avoid dealing with this.”

“He was buried in his own apartment! Where else could he go?!” Bulkhead demanded the cosmos above and threw his servos in the air in a fit of anxiety. The quietness of the Park calmed him only so much, and just sitting still wasn't fit for him in the slightest. He only controlled his voice and stopped himself from pacing out of respect for the dead, but at the same time being here and hearing the distant jingling of the prayer bells reminded him to fear for the worst. 

Arcee was welcome company, and she was quickly shifting onto her practical track. “He has friends and there are plenty of places to go. Remember, even at best he has the whole of Iacon to roam, and we aren't at war anymore. He could be literally anywhere, he's shifty and smart even if this is a stupid thing to do.”

Her words had sense in them, and Bulkhead knew this was why he had called her and not any other bot. She was practical and just as worried as he was, but her mind was working fast trying to solve the problem at hand and she was already mapping all the possibilities and theorizing, something Bulkhead had been too anxious and upset to do on his own. 

“Right... Right, there are plenty of bots who could have taken him in, I think,” Bulkhead said while wracking his processor for designations. “...But then again, a mutual friend of ours would have said something by now.”

“Then maybe not a mutual one,” Arcee suggested. “Or maybe not a friend at all. Maybe he's staying at a hostel or something like that.”

“He'd need money to do that,” Bulkhead pointed out. 

Arcee nodded, agreeing but still thinking about it. “True, but as mentioned, he is a crafty mech. He could easily get enough credits to stay at a very cheap place.”

“Right...” Bulkhead had to admit. “So what are we gonna do about this?”

Arcee took a deep invent and clicked her glossa. “Well. We aren't going to sit here wondering about it,” she said and got up. “I say first we go through everyone you know he knows and ask around. That's the easiest part and thus our first step. If we come up empty, we will start doing systematic rounds through districts and raid every place he could possibly stay in. If we find him we can drag him back with us and get this mess sorted out before it gets any worse than this.”

“Right. Luckily my boss doesn't want to sort anything out with the Court any more than we do, and even though I think Downshift knows there hasn't been a peep from his end either, so we might actually make it out of this one with little damage,” he said, and with the sorting out of his thoughts almost started to feel hopeful. They could do this, it was going to be okay. The anxiety and frustrated anger eased their hold on his spark a bit, and he wasn't that mad at Jackie anymore, as long as he could find him.

“Let's hope we find him fast,” Arcee added, pursing her lipplates. “If he has skipped town he's out of the range of our help. Let's also hope he hasn't gotten himself mixed into anything illegal...”

“Yeah, but for now we have a plan,” Bulkhead said, avoiding the worse possibilities. He had learned long ago that it was pointless to worry about things that hadn't happened yet, and this was one such occasion. They had something to do, and that was good enough for now. 

“Alright. Let's get moving then, who is the first contact on the list?”

They got out of the Park and on to the roads and started driving. They had many bots to seek out and questions to ask, and with that they spent the remaining part of the day cycle and all of the night too.


	29. Truths come out of longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! Thank you for your continuing interest for this story, every kudos, comment and like and reblog fuels my love for fandom and keeps me going. 
> 
> Today's chapter is incredibly self-indulgent. It's just married lesbians. Please enjoy!

Kaon was cloudy and busy by the time in early morning when Override arrived at the station. She had taken the overnight train from Iacon and arrived very early, but the city was lively and up as was rumored. She presumed she had just arrived in time for the morning rush when the factory workers, miners and delivery bots were on the move. 

She had never visited the Badlands and never been to any of the big cities there, not now or ever before the war. All she knew of them was hearsay, reputation or from the news, none of it good. If she were to claim that she hadn’t been worrying about things she had heard before or that they didn't at least make her nervous, she would have been lying. Still she hoisted her army-regulation duffel bag higher on her shoulder and started to make her way through the city according to the vague instructions she had managed to dig up. 

Kaon was a tricky place to visit as there weren't many, if any, up-to-date maps available. Sure, when the satellite system would finally be fixed that would help the problem, but it was a work in progress due to the limited resources and limited volunteers who wished to be appointed to the space station on the vacant moon near the equally barren space port. So far Council Member Actinide had managed to gather only a small group of bots who were up to the task, and they were making slow progress. 

So instead of a virtual updated map Override had been left with drawn copies, and each one of those she had come across seemed to be a little different, and eventually she had done an old army-trick, layered the most recently dated maps and partially merged them together so she was left with several versions in one image. It was neat and hopefully useful, but ultimately Override guessed she would just have to keep her optics open and stay alert, maybe ask for directions, and thus started her quest into unknown. 

The streets were as busy as the station had been, and Override quickly realized she couldn't just wander on with her gaze on the map or she'd risk being ran over. It seemed that the common traffic laws and marked paths were not so much laws as they were suggestions, and adding to that the bots here were typically almost twice her size or even larger than that, and even on a walking paths she felt like she was at risk of ending under someone’s pede. She almost drowned in the crowd, and as she fought on she felt an unexpected shock at how there could be a place such as this on her own homeworld, a place where she felt like an outsider. Wherever she turned to look there were large, bulky bots built for work and action, even the flightframes were thick and heavy, and instead of decorations and finish bots here seemed to favor heavy armor and biolights. Everyone looked like they transformed into tanks, trucks or battle-stations. Lighter frame types were very rare and even they preferred layered armor-plates and bright lights to glass, silver or brass. 

On the other hand, the city itself reminded her of the Red Star, for better or worse. Red Star had been a colony stitched together from stranded vessels and two large space ships, resembling a pile of husks woven together so new life could live in the shelter they offered, and Kaon had the same feeling to it. Unlike Iacon with its clean streets, fresh pavement and tall buildings with shining glass here in Kaon the war was still very much present. Only the worst of it had been cleared out so the roads were clear, but not even that many pits on them had been filled or stairs fixed, and many of the destroyed, grumbling buildings had been left to stand where they were. 

Override tried to stay on the main roads and not wander off into any alleyways or strange places, maybe out of paranoia but she hadn't made it through the war by being overtly curious or careless. Reminding herself that she was every bit of a soldier and a survivor as the large bots around her made her feel less small and less like someone who shouldn't be here, but it didn't help her to find her way. 

It took several wrong turns, a 180 degree turn in the middle of the street twice, asking for direction at the street corners, and after that walking for far longer than she had anticipated before she finally found the central police station of Kaon. She had no idea where would have been a proper place to wait, if she should go inside or if she definitely should not, and in the end she ended up lingering nearby and trying not to get in anyone's way. 

She checked the time several times during the ten klikcycles that she had to pass, and finally after five more she saw a familiar flyer stepping out of the front doors. Her spark soared. 

“Stormsplitter!” she shouted over the noise of the busy street and dashed towards the femme who had stopped on her tracks the klik she had heard her designation. She had the time to turn around just before Override reached her and threw herself into her arms. 

“The Light! What – “ Stormsplitter gasped as she caught her in her arms. She looked dazed and like she didn't quite believe her optics but the weight in her arms was real, and so she gathered the smaller femme in her arms and lifted her into an embrace. “Override – How are you – ?”

“Surprise,” Override laughed into her mate's neck. “I came on the night train.”

“But... How are you here? I thought you didn't want to come?” Stormsplitter gasped, confused but delighted as she put the other back down on her own pedes and took a better look at her. 

“I know what I said. But I missed you too much,” Override said. She couldn't stop smiling up at her mate, and even though Stormsplitter was more reserved she couldn't keep her servos off her either. She cupped her face and held her as if she hadn't laid optics upon her ever before. 

“I missed you too,” Stormsplitter hummed before leaning down to kiss her. 

Override felt her faceplate flushing hot; they were in the middle of a busy street and right before Stormsplitter's work place, and still she was about to kiss her. But she didn't turn away or refuse, it had been too long altogether and she let her optics offline when their lipplates met and electricity cracked between them. The kiss was too deep to be a simple greeting, and Override could taste nights without recharge and strong brew in her mate’s intake and knew she probably tasted the same. 

When they finally pulled apart Stormsplitter took another long look at her. “So. How's Kaon?” 

“Very different,” Override replied. “I got lost many times before I found my way here.”

“Well, you were on time. Come, let's go home,” Stormsplitter said with a chuckle, pulled Override under her arm and close to her side and started to lead the way down the street. 

Override could feel her faceplate burning and bots were certainly giving them looks, but she reasoned it probably wasn't due to their intimacy but rather their unconventional match, and after a while she relaxed enough to put her own arm around Stormsplitter's waist. 

“It's no wonder you got lost, even I do from time to time now that the layout has changed. In Kaon you just got to know where you're going, there's no tricks to it,” Stormsplitter said.

“I can only imagine. I used several maps and still had to ask for directions,” Override said.

Stormsplitter laughed. “Well you got here so it's all good. Did you walk or drive?”

“I walked. I wouldn't dare to drive on these streets, I'm not familiar with the culture,” Override explained.

“Yeah, well, I can't say I blame you. A pretty little thing like you might get ran over in no time on these streets. The air traffic is better out of pure necessity,” Stormsplitter noted and rattled her wings. “Although there are places were aerials race too.”

“Really?” Override had to ask, genuinely surprised, and Stormsplitter hummed in response. 

Navigating the streets by Stormsplitter's side turned out to be simpler and they walked very fast. Override felt her faceplate burning for a whole another reason when she noticed how rudely the other used her wings to clear the way for them, but at least she didn't feel like someone might step on her anymore. 

“So. How long are you staying?” Stormsplitter asked. 

Override felt her spark sinking at the question. She would have preferred not to think about it, but it was the reality of things. “Three solar cycles. They need me back at work again the next cycle.”

“Hmm. Very well. I have a full shift tomorrow and I'm on the call for the next two, but we have time. Let's have some _fun_ ,” Stormsplitter said, purposely bending down to snicker the last part into her audio receptor. 

Override elbowed her into her side. “You're a simple-minded bot!”

“Yes, I am. And still you're with me.”

“That I am.”

Stormsplitter lived in a small, modest apartment a considerable walking distance away from her workplace. The building was low and neat with a metal staircase slithering up the side of it and each apartment was entered from outside, and due to an air traffic tower a mere block away the rent was relatively low. It was no doubt only an upside for Stormsplitter who usually flew to work and had learned to handle noise during the war, and Override assured her it wouldn't bother her either during her stay. 

As soon as they got inside the apartment Stormsplitter hurried to the kitchen corner to get them something to drink, and Override wandered after her. The apartment had only two rooms, the front door leading to this larger one that was both a living area and a fueling room that felt a little bit cramped for both of them.

“I don't... I don't really have that much to offer right now,” Stormsplitter explained meekly while raiding her cold compartment. Bottles fell over as she fumbled through levels but didn't seem to find anything suitable because she soon abandoned the endeavor and moved on to her cabinets. 

Override smiled at her nervous efforts and took a look around. She could only peer into the second room that she recognized as the berthroom based on paddings on the floor even without a berthframe, and she assumed the wash-rack was attached to the room as well. The kitchen-living-room didn’t have that much furniture, just a small table with two chairs near the kitchen corner, a carpet and some seating pillows on it.

Stormsplitter seemed to have decided on oil and was now quickly setting the table with ceramic cubes and trying to make the cans she had dug out of her cabinet look fancier, and Override couldn't help the endearing smile that appeared on her faceplate as she watched her work. 

“I'll drink whatever you give me,” she said in hopes of calming her fussing mate down. “The last time I fueled was last night before I left anyway.”

“Oh! Should I... Would you like some energon then?” Stormsplitter asked, gesturing at the cold compartment again and rubbing the back of her helm. “I... This isn't much, but – “

“It's perfect. Sit down,” Override assured her. 

“Right,” the other said and made an effort to calm herself down. She pulled herself a chair, sat down and reached for a can to pour Override's cube full. The morning sun had already risen high, and the small kitchen-living-room was bright and cozy. 

“I thought you weren't about to visit while I'm here,” Stormsplitter muttered with her gaze on the table. 

Override raised her optic ridges. “I wasn't, but that was back when I thought your assignment here would last only from three to six moon cycles. But here you still are, and I am your conjunx so of course I came.”

“Hmm. Right, of course,” Stormsplitter said. She had emptied one can into a cube and pushed the full dish towards Override, then reached to pour herself a drink too. “You still in Iacon?”

“Yes. I have almost one full stellar cycle of service left, then the election will follow and I think I can safely reassign while the sitting Council changes,” Override replied. 

Stormsplitter propped an elbow on the table and leaned her chin on her servo. “Have you put in any effort on going back to the artist life after that? A portfolio maybe, filled up on equipment, networking... Whatever it is you need to do?”

“I have, actually,” Override replied with a proud smile. “I've been practicing and checking where I am skill-wise, and all I need to do is get some materials and I think I could start on a portfolio.”

“And employment? How will you make a living?”

“Well... I haven't looked into that yet, but I have tried to call up some of my old connections, those that survived, and I think Crystal City is trying to revive its legacy. City planning seems very prosperous at the moment too, and I have a lot of relevant experience,” she chattered while sipping at her oil. 

“Crystal City is far away,” Stormsplitter noted quietly, staring into her cube. 

Override's smile faltered a bit. “Well... Yes, from here,” she reluctantly admitted. “I... I thought that by the time I might get something from there our living situation wouldn't be... like it is now.”

“Mmm. It might not be, but ifs and buts won't get us anywhere,” Stormsplitter said and took a long swig of oil. 

Override didn't know what to say so she just sat still while the other drank. She put her cube on the table, wrapped her servos around it and slowly spun it around in them and watched the black liquid slosh around. “I'm happy if you've found a calling,” she blurted out. 

Stormsplitter raised an optic ridge at her, and when Override lifted her gaze she couldn't read the expression on the flyer’s faceplate. She didn't know if she had said something right or not and hurried to continue.

“I mean, if this is what you want to do then of course, I don't want to make it sound like I want to make decisions for you or tell you not to do something, you know best what you want and what you can do, and of course you can do anything – “

“Do you think I would fit in Crystal City?” Stormsplitter interrupted her rambling. 

Override was at loss of words for a moment, opening and closing her intake. “I... Why wouldn't you fit in there?” she quietly asked. 

Stormsplitter gave her a pained smile and huffed. “Look at me, Override. I am an industrial-class aerial. I am bulky and heavy and my paint is cheap. I can make you way on the streets of Kaon, but do you think my wingspan will help me attend a gala with you?”

Override felt suddenly defensive. “Life in Crystal City isn't just attending galas, you know.”

Stormsplitter raised an optic ridge at her. “Are you saying you've never hosted a fancy art gala now?”

“Well, no, of course not,” Override said, “but that's not the everyday life! No one's going to tell you you can't live there if you wanted to. No one's denying housing from you or... Or asking a permit for walking on the streets! It's not that kind of a place anymore! And what if I wanted you to attend galas with me and I don't care what other bots think about that?!”

Stormsplitter smiled towards the tabletop. “It's not the fancy galas I'm worried about. That might be fun, actually, at least with you. But... What if that's... just not the life for me?” 

Override thought about it for a moment and took a swig of oil to buy herself more time to consider her words. She let her gaze circle the room they were sitting in and suddenly became very aware that her pedes reached the floor on these chairs, they had back-support, and even though the cube in her servos was big it wasn't overtly so. 

“I have to confess, I've had similar thoughts about Kaon,” she said aloud while looking out of the window. The street was busy but less so than in the morning. A plane thundered over the building. “I felt a tad bit out of place when I arrived. I thought someone was going to step on me or laugh at my decorations.”

“No one will point and laugh here,” Stormsplitter said but then paused. “But don't think I didn't notice how different you were from the rest of the crowd when you greeted me. You're... so petite and pretty.” 

“Aaw, you think I'm pretty,” Override giggled with a grin. 

Stormsplitter coughed and her faceplate flushed. “You knew that already.”

“But you said it.”

The flyer coughed again and drank oil with audible gulps. When she put her cube down again she looked more grounded again. “My point is that I didn’t imagine that you’d be moving to Kaon with me.”

Override gave her a doubtful look. “Is that true?”

“Okay, I might have imagined it, but not for real,” Stormsplitter admitted. “I know this city isn't the life you want.”

“I want a life with you,” Override replied.

Stormsplitter sighed and offlined her optics for a klik. “And I want a life with you. But... It's just that we're very different. Where you fit I won't, and where I go you can't necessarily follow.”

“Then don't go,” Override whispered. “If I fit I want you to fit too, and where you go I want to follow. That must count for something, right?”

“It does for me,” Stormsplitter said with a tiny smile. 

Override responded to the smile with a one of her own, and she prayed it didn't look too much like relief. She wanted to be steadfast and strong for Stormsplitter.

“Well, it's not like we have to decide tomorrow!” she said with a clap of her servos. “It'll be two whole stellar cycles, anything can happen in that time. Perhaps the eventual answer turns out to be a very obvious one. And in any case, there's no reason to worry about any of that now. I'm here. And I'm glad to be here.”

Stormsplitter just smiled at her. Her wings were in a relaxed low angle and some strain had left her shoulders, and Override knew she had done well. “So. How are things here? How's work? Old friends?” she asked.

Stormsplitter leaned back in her chair and took a sip of oil, thinking about her answer. “Work is alright. In my post it's a lot of organizing, delegating and overseeing things, a lot of paperwork. It's not that different from being a Commander actually, half of my underlings even bear the same shields as all of mine did during the war, sometimes it's uncanny...” she chatted and paused to drink some from her cup gazing out the window. “Not that many old friends though. I think most of them are dead, and those who aren’t won't talk to me.”

“Won't talk to you?” Override repeated before she had time to seize her vocalizer. At the same time the words left her intake she realized what it was about and regretted focusing on the subject. 

But Stormsplitter didn't seem too bothered, just a tad bit gloomy about it. She shrugged. “I reckon those who still function heard about me during the war. Blue Flame wasn't exactly popular among our side either, you know.”

“I haven't thought about it,” Override honestly replied. 

Stormsplitter shrugged again. “Yeah, why would you have? It was some time ago. But the memory lives on. Those who heard of me joining them and becoming the commander, arguably the nastiest of Blue-Flamers, probably lost all interest in being associated with me, probably started to be afraid of me too. I'm not the femme I used to be, so they decided to not know me anymore.”

“But you're not that femme anymore either,” Override noted. 

“True enough... But my reputation still follows, and... In a way, I am. I have changed a lot, but I have always been me,” Stormsplitter said with a thoughtful voice. Her cube was empty and she tossed it lightly between her servos on the table. 

“Philosophical now are we?” Override chuckled.

“Maybe a bit,” Stormsplitter huffed and shook her helm. “Well, no matter. One of my old underlings found me in a bar a little while ago. She hadn't changed all that much and still saluted me too, it was pretty awkward actually. I suppose she's the type who'll never give up the Decepticon shield.” Her optics looked distant for a moment and she was quiet. Stormsplitter sounded old but she had been young when the war had broken out and she had aged fast during it. Now she was barely in the middle of her life-cycle and yet her optics glassed over when she stared at the table top and weighed on things she had seen and things she had done. 

“Well, no that it matters. Crystalrush is a true believer, like Skyquake and his twin were. Maybe that'll get her through this weird in-between period and make her latch onto the corner of the new way of life,” Stormsplitter concluded, blinking rapidly. 

“You wear your shield too,” Override pointed out. 

Stormsplitter shrugged and her servo rose to cover the shield on her shoulder-guard. “Yeah... I've been meaning to have it removed. I've been waiting for the right time.”

“It doesn't bother me,” Override quickly said, “if you want to keep it, you can. A lot of bots are keeping theirs, I think. They'll have new meanings soon, and it's not like it stands out in a bad way in Kaon.”

“Yeah, I know, thanks for that,” Stormsplitter hummed and gave her a smile. “But I think it's time. I've been thinking I should probably work on my programming and erase old code and update some protocols too. Removing this might be a good way to start.”

After they had finished their oil and with it the strangely formal rituals of visiting someone's apartment the first time they moved to the berthroom, where Stormsplitter threw herself on the paddings, clearly exhausted after her night-shift. She stretched on her back and gave a long sigh, and Override looked around a bit more freely as the other slouched. 

What she hadn't been able to see from the door or the kitchen were small shelves on the wall with various items piled on them. She spotted datapads on one shelf and grooming tools on the other, a small portable computer on the lowest shelf and a holopicture on the top one. Override had to stand on the tips of her pedes to see the picture clearly, and when she did she broke out in a smile. It was their tenth anniversary picture, the one they celebrated together and for the first time with genuine joy. Some archives from the Red Star no doubt had their bonding ceremony picture, but in it they were both standing stiff and overtly formal, only had their servos joined in a light hold between them. 

This picture was ten stellar cycles after that but on the same date, and instead of the command bridge it was taken on one of the viewing decks of the warship. There the windows were the largest and you could see the stars, the glimmering asteroid belt and the bright orange and red swirly side of an alien planet below them. They were standing by one such window and looking into the camera, sides pressed together and arms around each other, Override half hoisted up against Stormsplitter's chassis with her wings sheltering them. They both had wide, happy smiles on their faceplates. 

Override reached up to brush her digits against the holopicture and watched it dissolve when they came in contact. She pulled her servo back and watched the picture become clear once more, like nothing had happened. 

“You like that?” Stormsplitter asked from the padding.

Override lowered herself from the tips of her pedes fully on the ground again. “Of course I do. I have the same picture on my nightstand.” 

“Of course you do,” Stormsplitter sighed. 

Override turned towards the other femme and put her servos behind her back. The other was laying on the padding and on top of the covers and pillows with her wings and arms spread, peering up to her.

“Come here,” she preened. 

Override's smile spread and she did like she was told, slowly walking to the padding, knelt down on it and crawled towards her inviting mate. Stormsplitter raised her servo to reach out to the other femme, touched it to her cheek and let the other nuzzle against it. Her digits rubbed at her smooth cheek and tickled her from underneath her chin, and Override leaned in closer before stilling right next to the flyer who looked up at her with dimmed optics. 

“I thought you were tired,” Override teased.

“A little bit, maybe,” Stormsplitter admitted. “But not that much.” The gentle cradle of her servo turned into a hold as she reached behind Override's neck and she pulled the other down towards her, seeking out a kiss that Override easily surrendered to. The flyer gave her a wet open-mouthed kiss, then a small peck on the lips before teasing the other's lower lipplate with her dentae all the while pulling her down. Coaxed by her mate Override first leaned down, then lay her weight on her elbows, and finally let her frame fall onto its side as Stormsplitter's servos kept insisting. The kisses just kept coming, some deep and wet, some slower and almost chaste, and every now and then she felt a nibble on her lipplates. The kisses only relented when her lipplates started to feel sore and she whined, and the larger femme trailed away from her intake and down her neck where she nuzzled, inhaling deeply.

Override relaxed under the caresses and pressed herself against her mate’s side where she fit just right. She lay on her side with her optics closed and a bit drowsy while enjoying being touched, only half-consciously reaching to her mate with her servo. She ran the tips of her digits along the angles of her chassis, traced the edges of her cooling fans and gently caressed the interfacing panels just below her collar. She felt the warmth and current thrumming through the metal and to her digits there, the sensation making her smile while she let her servo wander further. 

The canopy in the middle of the flyer's chassis had always been a point of fascination for Override since it gave the other femme’s frame the very recognizable aerial shape, and she slid her servo across the warm glass and the metal frames around it. It was a familiar path for her to go through, she knew every curve and dip and arc of this frame with her optics offline, guided only by touch while current ran to her digits and she listened to air moving through Stormsplitter's cooling system. 

“How tired are you?” Override asked. 

Stormsplitter chuckled against her neckcables. “Hmm. Not that tired,” she purred. “You wouldn't believe how tired I would have to be to miss out on this. There's a couple downstairs who apparently only have time together every third day at the eighteenth cycle. I can hear them every time, it's like clockwork.”

Override giggled as she tilted her helm further back so the other could reach her cabling better. Stormsplitter turned her helm just right and reached the tender underside of her chin, and Override let out a deep sigh at the sensation. “That feels good,” she muttered. 

For a moment she enjoyed the tingling feeling in her neckcables that sparked current through her system, and soon noticed that her own servos had stilled. She shifted a bit and let her servo roam again. She loved her mate's bulking curves and her large frame, every single heavy armour plate and every circuit of her machinery underneath those, and the depths of her chassis itched when she thought of them and how she wanted to feed her love straight to those. 

Stormsplitter suddenly sat up and startled Override from her haze, but the other simply rearranged her wings and lay down on her side facing her. She parted her arms and welcomed Override into her embrace, kissing the crown of her helm and pulling her against herself. With her arms around the smaller femme she could stroke her back and her sides, and she seemed intent to feel every square inch judging by how she started from her shoulder-guards and stroked down the sleek curves of the lean frame, thumbed her wheels and caressed her hipplates from back to front and to back again. Override arched into the touch and rocked her hips the little she could, almost as if they were dancing and there was a rhythm to follow. She pushed closer, this time with her knee and managed to slip one of her legs between Stormsplitter's thighs. 

The other welcomed her with a gasp and a shiver and one servo dived down from her hip to palm at her aft and along the back seam of her thigh, encouraging her to push up against her. Override followed the lead and shifted, pushing her thigh firmly against the other's panel, invoking another gasp from her. 

Override hummed in the back of her intake and pushed her faceplate against the other femme's chassis, kissing whatever she could reach, the canopy, armour, the hot plates underneath her arms and left a trail of oral lubricants behind her. Rubbing her thigh against the other's panel and listening to her cooling fans picking up the pace and her gasps and deep, shivering breaths made Override flush hot allover, the tingling charge gathering in deep places of her frame. She enjoyed the slow rocking motions they made together and how Stormsplitter palmed and pulled at her smaller frame, her digits tracing her seams and caressing the thin plating of her inner thighs and the crooks near her joints, and it was almost like the current under her armour was singing, longing towards the other frame beside her. 

Stormsplitter let out a long, shivering groan as she rocked against Override's thigh that she was pressing against herself by the back of her knee. “That feels good. Don't stop.”

“'m not stopping,” Override mumbled against her chassis. She pressed her cheek against the canopy there and imagined she could hear the spinning of her spark. She felt hot and electrified, and in this state she wasn't the least bit coy. She let her servo travel across the curves of the flyer's side and then dive in between her legs along her own knee. “Open for me?” 

“Mm-hm.” 

Override pulled her helm back just a little bit and onlined her optics so she could take a look at her lover's faceplate. Stormsplitter wasn't ever particularly vocal, but she made up for in other ways and she definitely wasn't shy, not anymore, and now on request she opened her panel right under Override's palm. 

It had been a while, and Override had been thinking about doing this on many lonely evenings in her apartment while lying in her berth alone, and it was like a small lightning bolt zapped through her when she could finally gently push three of her digits against Stormsplitter's valve. They both gasped at the contact and giggled after at their own reactions. Stormsplitter's optics flickered online and they locked gazes. 

Override was slow and gentle when introducing the other to the sensation of her servo and took her time to properly feel her too. She was already wet with lubricant and it spread around nicely when she caressed her, gently parting the smooth silicon folds and dwelling between them, pressing lightly against her entrance and making her hips jolt against her palm, then tracing upwards and drawing slow, smooth circles around her anterior node. After repeating the motion a few times she left her valve alone for a moment and moved even more upwards to touch her spike. She was only partially pressurized but that was soon fixed when Override stroked her slick digits over it and rubbed her palm along the base, shivering herself at the little ridge mods and how good she knew they’d feel inside her. 

“Hang on,” Stormsplitter mumbled, ”let me touch you too. You're so eager you've already opened up too.” 

“I'm not ope - “ Override started to claim but stopped when she realized that yes, she had indeed retracted her own interface panel and was leaking a thin trail of lubricant on her own thigh. When had she opened the panel? She felt her face flushing at her own readiness. 

Stormsplitter pressed a kiss on her forehelm. “I like it. I know you've missed me. Or my array at least.”

Override snorted and grinned despite her faceplate burning. Stormsplitter watched her with a smile and dim, determined optics. The smaller femme's laughter turned into a wobbling smile under that gaze, and she used the moment to part her thighs. She was still stroking Stormsplitter's spike when the other femme's servo found its way to her array, and she couldn't stop her hips from bucking up to the contact. Stormsplitter laughed quietly and kissed her forehelm while cupping her valve with her servo. 

Override loved Stormsplitter's servos. They were large and her digits were blunt, and when they had first met she had been intimidated by the power the heavy femme seemed to be packing in every part of her frame, but after a while that intimidation had turned into attraction. Stormsplitter was patient, strong and attentive, and during these moments there was nothing better in the universe than to be touched by her servos. The smaller femme let her helm tilt back and she groaned when her lover pushed her digits against her, first circling and then parting her plump valve lips, rubbing the blunt tip of her digit against her entrance and applying just enough pressure to make the soft mesh yield and the sensor clusters just within the entrance light up in interest. Override let out a quiet moan and arched her frame towards Stormsplitter until their sides came in contact. 

Stormsplitter was slow and broad with her movements like she was trying to find every single sensor cluster wired into the mesh of her partner's array, patiently rubbing circles and trails into it. In between her wanderings she focused of the anterior node, flicking the little bud and tickling it with infuriatingly chaste moves that still had enough pressure behind them to light up the entire sensor cluster in a way that made the inner calipers squeeze down. It was like she knew it too, because every time Override bucked against her coaxing stroking and let out a demanding moan, she chuckled breathlessly and moved her digits lower to the valve entrance to tease it until Override was panting and moaning against her, grinding down against her servo and feeling so electrified and wet and tight and yet still so empty and hungry. 

Not that Override took a second place in this teasing game, she refused to move further as long as Stormsplitter was teasing her, and she took turns between her valve and spike, never staying too long on either one, just stroking some and enjoying the current running under her palm. Her right servo was on the flyer's array but the left was still braced against her chassis, palming at the thinner parts of her plating and tracing the seams, and she smiled to herself every time she hit a spot that made the flyer squirm under her touch. Stormsplitter didn't make much noise, but her cooling fans whirled and she panted, her frame was hot and she moved in a very clearly wanton manner against her smaller partner, impatient but stubborn enough to keep at it. 

Then blessedly, finally, Stormsplitter pushed the blunt tips of two of her digits against Override's entrance and started to push, gently but in a determined manner that finally promised the next stage. Override let her helm tip back and she shuddered as she felt her walls parting easily, giving way and squeezing down like trying to pull the digits in with force if necessary. With the penetration she became aware of just how wet she was, how soft her walls had turned, and when the pent-up current started to spread and zap she realized how long she had waited. The ache was still there, throbbing and needy, but now it was getting what it wanted and it was ready to burn up. Override panted and moaned, panted and moaned and bucked against the digits, and her left servo seized a steady hold of Stormsplitter's arm under her helm for support.

“Come on,” she breathed, “come one, I'm ready, I'm ready, go ahead, it feels good...”

“Yeah,” Stormsplitter mumbled to her, moving the arm the other was clutching to cradle her helm, and pushed her digits properly in. Override gasped and bit her lipplate. 

For a moment the smaller femme gathered herself, squeezed around the digits inside her and experimentally rocked against them. It was a stretch, a bit unusual since they had been apart for a while, but it wasn't uncomfortable at all. It was like they were doing this in secret after a long break or even like for the first time, like two run-away lovers. The though was silly and romantic and strangely exciting, and Override giggled to herself, at the thought and how good she was feeling, and with that she came to her senses just enough to start moving her own servos again. She would return the favor, she would share this feeling and give every bit of pleasure back to Stormsplitter too, she would make that large flyer frame surrender to her, to melt under her touch and maybe, if she was really lucky, she would wring some sweet cries of ecstasy out of her too. She dragged her digits up and down Stormsplitter's array, testing the waters and spreading the lubricant before she nestled them against the entrance too. The mesh there was throbbing, hot and eager, and when Override bundled three of her digits together and started to bore down the thick mesh deflowered under them and let them slip inside into the thick wet heat. 

Stormsplitter opened her lipplates and out a small breath that turned into a whine, and her calipers squeezed down on Override's digits as she twisted them inside of her, pressing the tips against the walls and lighting up a cluster after cluster of sensors. A clever twist and a rub prompted another whine out of the flyer, and Override felt almost smug in her own charged up haze. 

The flyer might have been enjoying the intrusion and the intimate caresses against her insides, but she wasn't just allowing herself to sink into the feeling and become passive, quite the opposite: it seemed that the stronger Override's touch was, the stronger the other returned the favor.

Stormsplitter kept it at two digits and when she first pushed them in she kept the movements slow and careful, letting Override's smaller valve get used to her big digits and the delicate calipers flex themselves a little, but she also moved relentlessly. She wasn't satisfied by simply coaxing the array to flare, she was actively seeking the upper hand and racing it on. Her digits thrusted in deeper and deeper every time until they could pump freely from the very tip down to the last joint, and the tips were rubbing against the inner walls like she was making a beckoning gesture with them. 

The movements of her servo were deep and powerful, a steady rhythm that made Override pant and moan with it as her valve not only accepted the touch but invited more of it, squeezing and almost sucking on the digits as if trying to swallow them. Override's knees felt weak and the only thing she could do was to part them more. She moaned louder at the sloppy, wet sounds her array made when Stormsplitter pumped her digits in and out, in and out with her thumb roughing rubbing against the anterior node. 

Override felt herself shaking under the treatment and she clutched at her partner's arm to keep her light frame from being pushed along with the strong thrusts while she tried to match up and reflect the fierce pleasuring she was receiving. In a way screwing her slender digits inside the other was a bit like pulling at her strings because there was a certain amount of reflecting in their love making: one touched the other in a certain way, the other returned the touch which was then replicated again, and together they sank into a rhythm that was controlled by them both. 

Stormsplitter was clearly moving with more power than the other was, and at this point Override wasn't trying to match her up anymore, just keeping the other charged up and warm and pleasured while she herself was about to get swept up into a vortex. 

Override kept steadily fingering the other and finding the most sensor clusters on instinct while making sure the other's spike rubbed against her arm while she was at it, but that was all she had the presence of mind for. She felt wet and full, and every sloppy rub against her anterior node sent a shock through her system and made her buck against the other's servo. Stormsplitter was holding her helm against her chassis and Override could feel her damp breaths against the crest of her helm while she squeezed her arm for support. She was cradled into the comfortable and safe curve of her mate’s frame and there she was trembling and writhing as her frame burned hot and the charge built and built, and all she wanted was to release that charge but the climb was not done yet. Her intake hung open and a quiet stream of panting, hums and moans kept pouring out as she rode the servo between her legs. 

“Oh Light, I'm so close,” she moaned as she flexed her hips and squeezed with her inner calipers. “So close... Close...”

“Yeah,” Stormsplitter muttered against her forehelm and suddenly slowed her rhythm but made her thrusts deeper. The pace slowed but she angled her wrist differently and pressed her digits against the walls in such a manner that made the thrust feel longer, deeper and somehow better as each sensor cluster was tweaked at a new pace and with a stronger stroke. 

Override shook. She wasn't sure what her frame was doing, just that one of her servos was grounding her and hooking her to Stormsplitter's arm, and other was buried into something soft and wet she distantly knew to be the other femme's array. She couldn't think about it right now, she didn't think about anything, she just felt and surrendered to the current of feelings pulling her along, promising to pull her under. Her entire frame felt drawn like a tight string and Stormsplitter was the one operating it, pulling her back and taking her to the limit. She was riding the current, almost there, almost at full capacity, and her frame was trembling and burning at feeling so full and wound up and beautiful. 

She wasn't feeling the least bit coy, she was perfectly happy and joyful here on the padding with Stormsplitter who she knew was watching her every move, every arching of her spinal strut and every buck of her hips, who saw her with her legs open and felt every gush of lubricant. Override offlined her optics, arched her back and opened her intake to let out a long, humming moan, while Stormsplitter hooked her digits, pressing the tips against the front wall of her valve, massaging the sweet spot there, and finally the limit was breached. 

Override overloaded with a sudden, happy little shout. A warm tingling sensation flooded her entire frame, made her toe struts curl and her lipplates draw into a smile as she rode out the feeling against Stormsplitter's servo, writhing against her before finally curling against her side, cooling fans wheezing. 

For a moment Override basked in the after-glow while gasping air into her cooling system and nuzzled against the flyer's side, before pulling herself back together enough to turn her optics towards her partner. Stormsplitter was watching her with bright optics and a self-satisfied smile. 

“Made you come first,” she snickered with a grin. 

Override huffed and pursed her lips at her, then reached over to give her a comical kiss just like that. “Racers are fast, there's no shame in it,” she said, pulling herself into a half sitting position, then gazed the flyer's frame over with a raised optic ridge. “And I plan to return the favor.”

“That's good, I thought you'd doze off,” Stormsplitter said, stretching her frame and relaxed properly on her back, her legs lewdly open. 

Override was grateful for her recent overload because otherwise she surely would have flushed at the display before her.

Stormsplitter was gorgeous. She was large and heavy and her paint was worn out, and it all made her just the right kind of rough looking. Her curving armour, her thick mid-section and her heavy thighs made her look like she could have transformed into a truck, but the sharp edges of her wings jutting out of her back reminded everyone that this femme was forged for the sky. She was painted brown, orange and rust-red, and in her full glory she was like a living flame. Override never tired of admiring her. Touching her made her knees feel weak and her spark pulse like this was a grand privilege reserved only for her – which it was. 

She ran her servo down Stormsplitter's chassis, her midsection and to her hipplates while peering at her faceplate. The flyer just looked back at her with a sharp smile and dimmed optics.

After a moment Override broke their optic contact in order to concentrate on what she was doing. She shuffled closer to her partner until her knees and hipplate pressed against her side and finally traced her servo from the femme's hip between her legs. Stormsplitter arched her hips and let out a low hum as Override caressed the underside of her spike with the tips of her digits, again feeling up the little ridges there and toying around the seams and the soft silicon sealants between metal parts, then giving it a few tight yet slow pumps until the flyer’s hips were moving in time with her servo. Override glanced at her partner's faceplate and saw her optics flickering with pleasure.

Stormsplitter's cooling fans were getting steadily louder and her movements under Override's servos more eager, and she was steadily sighing and humming or when she felt particularly good stilling all air inventing and any sounds for a klik. Her hips were rocking against Override's servo, steady like a tide, and when Override looked at her gentle and powerful movements she knew she wanted to draw this out some more; Her partner looked so relaxed and content when she was steadily sinking into bliss that she wanted to keep her here just a moment longer. 

While stroking her spike with an emphasis on the base and occasionally on the tip Override slipped her other servo lower until she could bury her digits between the valve folds. The sudden sensation made Stormsplitter gasp and jolt a little but once she got used to the stimulation she relaxed again, her movements turned back into steady rocking and she started humming again. 

Override was gentle with her digits when she pressed three of them against the valve entrance, circling it a bit and putting pressure on it every few kliks before trailing them upwards again to fondle the anterior node, trying to figure out which the other liked more. Touching her like this made a new flame light up in the bottom of her tank too, but she ignored it aside from enjoying the burn, concentrating entirely on the other femme and giving her all that she wanted.

“Go up,” Stormsplitter said suddenly. “Don't bother with fingering, just keep doing… that.” She gave a deep, shuddering sigh when Override followed her instruction and dragged her nimble digits around her anterior node.

Override smiled down at her but the other wasn't looking anymore. She was laying there, not only rocking anymore but squirming, her spinal strut arched and her arms above her helm, her optics offline and lower lipplate between her dentae. Override held her venting and sped up her caresses on her, squeezing at the base of her spike in a way she knew the other liked and rubbing steady circles around and on her anterior node, breaking the rhythm only to dip lower to wet her digits some more.

She never grew tired of watching Stormsplitter. Her cooling fans were wheezing, her powerful engine humming loudly under her plating, and her sturdy frame moved like liquid when she chased her overload under Override's servos. Her chassis was rising and falling with the rush of air she was pumping into her system, and she was so wound up and unguarded she had finally forgotten to keep quiet and deep, breathy moans were slipping from her open intake. Her frame was burning hot, almost blazing to the touch and her hips were working steadily with her partner's servos to reach the maximum charge as fast as she could. She wasn't only beautiful like this, passionate and gone with pleasure, she was gorgeous and despite her heavy frame she moved so smoothly, as if she was flying even here on the ground. She was squirming and humming, her faceplate was almost visibly flushing and her voice wasn't only venting air and hums anymore, her tone had pitched up and she was keening, her brow furrowing as she rocked up from the padding, begging for the release with her whole frame, and Override accommodated her by speeding up and pressing down harder. 

And finally the peak was reached, Stormsplitter overloaded with a keening yelp that turned into a purring hum as she slowly floated down from her high. A heavenly scent spread from her into the room, a mixture of atmosphere and spent charge, and finally she slumped, melting into the padding with a heavy sigh. 

Override grinned to herself while she wiped her servos clean on the corners of the sheet, and when she turned back towards her mate she met her dim, heavy optics. 

“Come 'ere,” Stormsplitter muttered and made grabby servos in her direction. 

Override got up on her servos and knees and crawled across the small distance between them until her faceplate was hovering above Stormsplitter's, and the flyer pulled her down by her shoulders to kiss her. The kiss was sloppy and warm, a soft, intimate contact between them, and Override felt her limbs giving out under her. As she slumped down, Stormsplitter opened her arms and wrapped the other femme in them, pulling her on top of her and to her chassis, and all the while they kissed each other until their lipplates were wet and aching. 

Finally the kiss subdued, turning into resting forehelms together, and then into the smaller femme laying her helm down in the crook of the other's neck. Their frames fit together like this, both satisfied and languid and comfortably nested in the padding and the covers.

“Mm. That was nice,” Stormsplitter mumbled into the side of her mate's helm. 

Override chuckled softly. “Yes, it was. Very nice.”

“I wish we could do this more often.”

“We will, in time,” Override assured her. “And for the next few solar cycles, we have each other readily available.” 

“Yeah, that we do,” Stormsplitter said with a small laugh, but at the same time wrapped her arms tighter around Override. She gathered the other against herself the best she could even though she wasn't that much larger than the grounder and couldn't hide her away into her arms, so she opted to holding her tight and nuzzling against the side of her helm. 

Override curled up a bit on her mate's chassis and trailed the seams of her armor absentmindedly, subtly pushing into the contact. 

“I miss you already as if you were gone,” Stormsplitter whispered against her audio receptor. 

Override sighed. “I know. I miss you too.”

Stormsplitter squeezed her arms around her for emphasis. “I love you.”

Override felt her optics welling with liquid and she quickly hid her face into Stormsplitter's neck. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked this, click the kudos button and maybe leave a comment! I love to hear your thoughts and feelings. 
> 
> **A little announcement/warning for the future:** I will be super busy this Autumn up until Christmas time and I don't know how much I have time to write. I'm doing my thesis research and writing the thesis itself, I have other courses to worry about as well, I signed up for another reaper76 event (the reverse bang) in a stroke of madness two months ago and I'll be writing a fic for that, and on top of this hectic madness I lost most of my income and that needs to be sorted out when I still have money for the rent. 
> 
> So I won't be doing NaNo this year because I'm too busy and so I will soon catch up with what I have already written with this fic, I have two chapters left unpublished. This is still my only long-fic project and my passion so on instances I have that mythical free-time I'll be writing this, but in any case you should prepare for a semi-hiatus soon. Thank you.


	30. Kiss it better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! Thank you for your patience during this Autumn. My life is still very much in shambles with troubles with my income, my health failing me and my studies taking a heavy toll on me this semester, but regardless I am now able to update! \o/
> 
> I'm very eager to share this chapter and get this moving yayy. It's very much personal drama here, but worry not, we'll get to the bigger picture soon enough. Until then, well. Some culture building and other kinds of peaks. B)

Even though in some self-destructive momentary error of the mind Starscream had marked the Festival of the First Flight down in his calendar, he didn't think he'd find himself succumbing to the social pressure at work. And still when the aerial bots at work stayed after the shift to watch the live broadcast from Vos on the big screen in their break room, he found himself following the crowd. That wasn't what he had planned to do and it certainly wasn't what he wanted to do, but there he was anyway, brought along with the rest of the aerials who wanted at least a peek at the festival. 

The mood in the break room was odd to say the least. Before the war the Festival had been almost a carnival even with its strict etiquette and the mood everywhere had always reflected that, but this time around it was different. There was excited buzz and cheerful greetings and some congratulations passed to those who knew someone who was partaking in the flight, but there were also several serious and even solemn faces, quiet spectators with a sad spark of nostalgia blinking in their optics, and then there were some who lurked around the room with their arms around themselves, avoiding the rest. Starscream was among the last group as he noticed after a while looking around, and angrily forced his arms to his sides.

Some core group that had formed among the work community had prepared brew for everyone, and someone had brought energon treats, and they were all set at a long table near the back wall, and bots swarmed anxiously between the table and the large screen on the opposite wall. Starscream hadn't planned on staying long, maybe not even long enough to see the flight at all, but still he drifted towards the table and reluctantly accepted a cup of brew, though he passed the treats altogether. 

No one tried to speak to him and everyone actively avoided making optic contact with him, and if contact was accidentally made he got a polite, tight smile when the bot rushed past him. He internally sighed in relief when no one tried to strike up a conversation with him or ask if he knew someone who was partaking in the flight, and he drifted across the room until he ended up near the wall, a bit secluded from the excited crowd but still in a place where he could see the screen. 

Vos was indeed beautiful, but nothing like he recalled it being. The buildings were again mostly built of metal and stone, but none of these new buildings had decorative facades like their predecessors had had thousands of stellar cycles ago, and everything looked strange to Starscream. There had been nothing left of Vos by the time Cybertron had gone dark, and it showed. The broadcast was coming right from the core tier of Vos, where Starscream used to live, yet nothing looked familiar. It was Vos but only in name. His home was gone.

He drowned his bitter feelings into the brew cup while the news camera panned the large crowd that had gathered to celebrate. The roof tops were full of people as were the bridges and the balconies, there was not a single spot off the ground that wasn't full of people, and even the streets down below had spectators. The camera feed switched to the sky dance performance that was going on above, a group of nine seekers flying far above everyone and everything, then diving daringly terrifyingly low before thundering up again. It was a beautiful dance, and when a particularly daring dive was performed the crowd below cheered for them, as did some of Starscream's coworkers in the break room but in a reserved manner of tapping their digits against their brew cups. 

Starscream could tell the level of the dancers was amateurish. It was beautiful to watch, but it had a certain edge of roughness to it that unveiled that none of the flyers could have been anything more than a hobby dancer. 

There were a few more performances and the camera panned over the crowd, then a feature for a collection of different art works across the city, and then it was finally time for the flight. Starscream had drank his brew by then and he should have left, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to. The atmosphere in the room shifted and bots subtly tried to get closer to the screen, some reached for the bot next to them, and a deafening silence fell over them. 

On the screen the crowd was screeching with cheers as the festival lights were lit, lighting up all the rooftops, the flight towers and the corners of every building all the way down to the streets according to an ancient tradition, but the cheering had a new sound to it, something that was clear and particular but what had never been there before. It was the clear ringing of thousands and thousands of silver bells, everywhere in the crowd. 

Starscream clutched onto his cup and he felt his windpipe clamp shut. He quickly glanced around the room to see how others reacted and saw stony faces, shared sadness and bots holding each other, leaning onto their coworkers and friends. But some stood apart from the crowd, some didn't swarm around the screen and reach towards the new Vos, some were leaning on the walls or hanging in the back of the room, avoiding everyone else and being avoided in return. They were bots with drooping wings and dull optics, and they were all wearing the suffocating weight of sorrow around them, and to his horror Starscream realized he was one of them. 

He escaped the room in haste. 

It was surprisingly late and almost dark already when Starscream got to the streets, and the rush hour had just passed and the traffic towards the outer districts of the city was barely a dwindle. It didn't even occur to him to head to the nearest flight tower and take wings under him, he just let his pedes carry him to the street and down it, eventually he would get home any way. 

It was a long walk but he didn't mind. The ache in his pedes was a welcome sensation that felt both like a well-earned punishment and a proof that he was still functioning, and it pulled his mind back into his frame instead of letting it drown into the endless vortex of his thoughts. The hard street under his pedes felt never-ending and Starscream took a certain amount of comfort in that, it was like he had taken a breather and it would go on as long as he had road to walk on. He could walk around the entire planet if he felt like it. 

He wouldn't but he could, and that alone was enough. At least he was out of that cramped up little room and its suffocating atmosphere and no longer had to take those pitying stares and distant respect. To think that something that he had once been so proud of had turned into this, that once he had been proud to be a part of his trine and always seen as a part of that unit, and now that joy had showed its flip side with him carrying alone the weight of his terminated mates. 

As he hurried down the street Starscream wondered how many widows like him had traveled to Vos to try out their skills and luck in winning new trines and possibly bond mates. There had to be several, so many had fallen and most of the trines he had known or even heard of had been broken apart during the war, some widowed and some undid old spark bonds after spending so much time apart that they had become strangers to each other. In passing Starscream thought of Stormsplitter and her fallen trine and bond mates, and how she had bonded again with a new partner. Stormsplitter might not have been a seeker but she was definitely an aerial and thus part of the same culture he was, and somehow she had managed to put her mates to rest and heal her spark enough to create a new bond. 

To Starscream that was unthinkable, even if he could one day shake off the heavy burden of grief and ease the splitting pain in his spark he couldn't even imagine bonding again to another. It wasn't even out of loyalty to Thundercracker and Skywarp, but the thought of doing something like that again felt impossible and painful on its own. Something like that happened only once in a bot's life, that was just how it was. 

Starscream was shaken from his dark thoughts when he realized he had taken a direct way home and thus arrived in the central district of Iacon, and before him stood the tall dark wall of the Memorial Park. Starscream halted so suddenly that someone walking behind him bumped into him, and he was too shaken to even notice their complaints or pay attention to them, or care how he was standing in the middle of the street and attracting annoyed looks from bots who had to go around him. The dull ache in his spark became suddenly unbearable and he clutched at his chassis like he was short-circuiting. The dark wall of the Memorial cast a shadow over him, and in that darkness Starscream felt like he was being stared at, and a sudden slash of guilt cut through him. 

So many had bought fine silver bells and engraved the designations of their loved ones into them by servo and set those bells up there, on the sacred ground of Primus to be honored by all. But not Starscream. He had all but avoided this district and the Park. Not once had he visited it, not even to do the bare minimum of a good widow and honor his mates with simple prayer bells. He had cowered from the duty and left his loved ones without the guidance and greetings. 

Just when the crushing weight of the failure he was started to become too much Starscream got his pedes to work again, and now they carried him away from the Park even faster than they had brought him there. 

His home building couldn't have appeared in his sight too soon. His digits felt numb and clumsy when he yanked the door open and escaped the outside into the dark shelter of the hallway. The heavy door closed behind him and left him in the dark silence, and he simply stood there for a moment to let the stress loaded in his system melt away. The street had felt kind to him when he had forced himself to walk, but now in the shelter he felt like he had managed to snap out of some sort of a trance, and he was grateful he had somewhere to go so he didn't have to find out where he would have ended up otherwise. 

But he couldn't stay in the hallway forever, and after lingering a moment he finally forced himself to the elevator. Its horrible noise hurt in his audio receptors even more than usual but at least he had another moment to gather himself that he wouldn't have if he had chosen the stairs, and even if the noise felt like being fragged in the processor with a wire brush at least he didn't have to climb. 

Dragging himself through the corridor to his door was the last task today, and it was already dark outside so he could just call it a solar cycle and go straight to berth, and that was what he told himself when he fumbled with the keycard before letting himself in. 

Entering home triggered a wave of exhaustion that crashed over him, and for a moment Starscream let himself lean against the wall and just stare blankly ahead without really registering anything he was looking at. 

“Did you have a rough day?” called Knockout casually from the living room. 

Starscream pushed himself upright again and walked in from the little entryway. He hadn't even registered that Knockout was home, but there the grounder was, lounging on the couch with his pedes hanging off the armrest, apparently typing on a computer in his lap. 

“Yes, you could say so,” Starscream admitted with a sigh. “I was unexpectedly delayed at work.”

Knockout sat up on the couch and indeed set his transportable computer aside there. He lay his arms against the back of the couch and rested his chin on them and peered at Starscream curiously. “You were delayed some time then. I hope they pay you for over-time.”

With the conversation on Starscream couldn't just cut into the berthroom and fall on his padding, and he awkwardly lingered there in the space between the living-room and the kitchen with no place to go. “Ah, it wasn't over-time. Most of the aerials wanted to watch the broadcast from Vos. I stayed for brew.”

“Oh, I see,” Knockout said. He looked very calm and content like nothing in his life was out of place. He seemed politely interested in Starscream's comings and goings, and there was a measuring tone in his optics. “That must have been some brew then since it's so late. Your shift ended three cycles ago.”

It was a bit annoying to be put on the spot like this, and Starscream felt himself prickling with irritation at Knockout's casual interrogating and how he had noted of his routine. He huffed. “I didn't stay for long, but I walked home.”

Knockout raised his optic ridges and gave a slow nod of understanding. “That's unusual for you.”

“Yes, and what of it?” Starscream snapped back. He was swinging on his heels, trapped in the space that was nothing, not living-room and not kitchen, and he just wanted for the conversation to end and be left alone. Knockout wasn't usually this persistent in keeping conversations going, especially when he must have clearly been aware of how much Starscream didn't want to talk with him now. 

Knockout shrugged and tilted his helm, casual and unassuming but still strangely almost playful looking when peering at him over the couch like that. “Would you like a drink?” he suddenly asked.  
Starscream wasn't expecting that and he was so taken aback by the suggestion that he forgot about his irritation. He blinked a few times while processing, and Knockout waited it out patiently. 

Finally Starscream sighed. “Actually, yes.”

Without needing anything more Knockout got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen, and finally Starscream got to move on from the in-between space and followed the other. Knockout fetched two glass cubes for them, then took out a fine bottle of high-grade he had stored in the back of a cupboard and set them on the counter, beckoning the seeker closer. When Starscream pulled up a stool and sat down on it, he realized the bottle was the same one they had opened when Stormsplitter had visited him to pay her respects. It was oddly fitting to be drinking the same liquor now, even if it made his windpipe squeeze shut at the same time. 

Knockout sloshed a generous amount of high-grade in both cubes and handed one to Starscream, who nodded his thanks before taking the cube straight to his lipplates. They sampled the burning liquor in silence for a moment, and Starscream enjoyed the warmth that settled in his tank as he drank. He drank almost half of his cube in just a few sips before he forced himself to slow it down and lowered the cube on the counter, turning his focus on the bottle to avoid looking at his company. 

“You got this bottle as payment, right?” Starscream asked.

“Yes,” replied the other.

“Recently, I assume?”

Knockout shrugged. “Relatively recently, yes. After we got released from custody here. I pulled a few dents and rerouted some misplaced wires in one poor bot's leg and accepted this for my troubles.”

Starscream leaned his chin on his servo and lifted his gaze to Knockout. “I thought you'd take only valuables and credits for your services.”

The other shrugged again and tasted the high-grade. He had sipped at it with a notably slower pace than Starscream, and his cube looked full. “I'm not too picky nowadays, and I think being merciful to my patients pays off. I don't do charity, but I do work at the black market so it's beneficial in the long run to be a bit flexible. Besides, I believe Soundwave takes his cut so I don't want to overprice either.” 

“Hm. Clever,” Starscream muttered. The details were interesting and on any other occasion he might have pried into them more, but not today. He took another long swig out of his cube, and he didn't even have the time to set it back on the counter before Knockout was already pouring it full again. 

The high-grade buzzed in his system and his tank and intake both flushed warm with it, and he went slower on his second cube. He could tell it was a good bottle, worthy of its intended purpose as a celebration drink as he recalled Knockout had told about it when he had corked it. He also recalled that the original owner hadn't lived to see the end of the war. 

“Walking is an unusual mean of transportation for you,” Knockout pointed out. 

Starscream gave him a what he hoped was a neutral look and tapped his talons against the kitchen counter. “And what of it?”

“You pace around when you're upset,” the other continued. 

It was an awkward reminder that they had indeed spent a lot of time living together even before they had moved here, and in many ways a cramped warship had been more intimate experience than the apartment, even with the separated cabins. Starscream was divided on how to feel about the notion, both pleased to be seen and feeling uncomfortably exposed at the same time. He didn't say anything, just glared and hoped it would make Knockout back off.

It didn't. “I know what today is,” Knockout said. “Did you want to be there in Vos?”

Starscream offlined his optics for a klik before the subject he would have so gladly avoided before surrendering to it. “No. Like I told you before.”

“I know, I asked in case you changed your mind. You do that a lot, you know,” Knockout said and took a sip of his drink. He looked a tad bit smug as he did so, and Starscream rolled his optics. 

“This isn't about me changing my mind. This is something that won't change, and my decision stands,” he said, staring down into his drink. “I am a widow. There's nothing of interest to me there. And of what I saw there's nothing for me in Vos in general either. I don't even recognize the place now.”

Knockout sighed as a sign of solidarity. His field was buzzing, creeping on the edges of a social range like a subtler version of a consolidating pat on the arm. “Are you sure you're not just punishing yourself here? I get if you're not ready now, but maybe after some time you might want to try and fly for a new trine.”

“But I don't want a new trine. It's not that I'm not ready, it's that there won't be another. Ever,” Starscream argued, annoyed and tapping the counter with his talon so hard it made a screeching sound. 

Knockout hummed thoughtfully, and when Starscream looked up to glance at him he didn't look at all bothered. Somehow that was reassuring. 

“And still you stayed behind to watch the flight,” Knockout pointed out.

Starscream groaned and pressed his servo over his optics, pressing harshly with his digits. “I don't know why I did that,” he confessed. “It was a stupid thing to do.”

“You were curious and nostalgic,” Knockout suggested. “It's normal to want to take a look.”

“It's not about that! Oh Primus...” Starscream groaned and took a swig out of his cube. He rolled his helm and made something under his neckcables crack. “I just went with the crowd, everyone was so cheerful and excited, and judging by what I was able to see just about every aerial on this world has tried to travel to Vos for the Festival.”

“Yeah, I've heard the fuzz about it,” Knockout said in between sips, and Starscream flicked his wrist in his direction to note his words. 

“Everyone there has worked so hard to make the Festival happen and to make it like they used to be... Ringing prayer bells in the crowd was a morbid addition and I can't say it is to my taste, but that wasn't what bothered me,” he explained to his own talons scratching the counter top. “It was how the others looked at me, all pitying and sad and distant, with no regard to what I have accomplished, how hard I fought and what I survived. No, everything that I am to those bots is a little bundle of misery that no one even greets in case I get my sadness on them!” 

The high-grade was making him talkative, and he hadn't been prepared for how honest and bitter he would be when he opened his intake and words started pouring out, but he chose not to care and drank more to numb the little part of him that still did. 

Knockout made an acknowledging hum, tapping his cube with a digit and leaned against the counter. “Ah yes, the bots are the worst part of so many things,” he said, and Starscream huffed a dry laugh at that. The grounder went on: “And it's not like everyone else is much better off. You say bots avoid you because you're miserable, but I can assure you that if you wanted to find someone exciting on this planet, you'd be looking for a quite a while.”

Starscream felt slightly unsteady on his stool and leaned against the counter as well. He wasn't severely intoxicated, but a pleasant warm buzz had replaced the restless anxiety from earlier. The high-grade didn't suddenly make him bouncy and happy, but it did make his limbs feel relaxed and comfortably heavy. “Huh. Do you offer psychiatric services too nowadays?”

Knockout made a face and chuckled. “Oh, no. No, psychiatry was never my field, I've always preferred things I can treat with my servos. But dating is harder than it ever was.”

“You are dating?” Starscream asked and couldn't hide the slight shock in his voice, a tone that Knockout certainly picked up on judging by the look he threw his way.

“A little bit, yes. A mech doesn't run just on energon, you know,” he said with a scoff and a roll of his optics. “But like I said, 'exciting' is right now a rare commodity almost impossible to come by.”

“If you say so,” Starscream said, and it felt like the words had to be pulled out of him like corroded denta. He hadn't even thought about Knockout seeking company, but it shouldn't have been such a surprise as it clearly was: Knockout had always been fast and social and very much aware of his own charm and attractiveness. It was just that Starscream had assumed all of his time was consumed by work, and he just couldn't figure how he found time to meet anybody, let alone several anybodies. 

Starscream much preferred Knockout here in their apartment, providing half of the rent and stability in his life, not out there searching for someone to hook up and run away with, and the thought of the other working towards a new, better arrangements made the seeker feel uneasy. “Are you trying to move out already?” he asked.

Knockout scoffed and raised his optic ridges as him. “I've been dating, not looking for a conjunx. You can relax, I'm not leaving you here to pay the rent alone. Besides I think out of the two us it's you who's into the bonded lifestyle anyway.”

Starscream clicked his glossa and felt suddenly angry again and he indulged himself even though he knew he was just reading into the comment. Maybe he wanted to be bonded and feel complete after all. “So typical of you,” he said bitingly. 

The comment might have been unfair even if it was addressed to Knockout who looked like he wasn't fazed by anything, but from the smile that bordered on a smirk and the sharp look in his optics Starscream knew his words stung. 

“To each their own,” Knockout said dryly. “I know you're on edge today, more than usual, but I'm not about to jump this ship anytime soon. You can stop stressing about that at least.” His cube was empty but he didn't fill it again, nor did he set the cube aside either or move to store the bottle away. 

Starscream had only about a sip left in his cube but he didn't empty it either, just held the cube in his talons on the counter, and he got the feeling that neither one of them wanted to move on from this situation. The offer had been for a drink and Starscream had already had two, but Knockout was holding his empty cube as well and leaning on the counter instead of pushing himself up. The moment stretched on simply because they refused to move on from it. 

“Thank you for keeping me company,” Starscream muttered, glancing away from Knockout and letting his gaze circle their small apartment instead. He wasn't attached to any of these things or this apartment, but still it was his home and he wouldn't want to change it anytime soon. He would be willing to let go off all the furniture, the paddings, the computers and the screens, but there were some things he wanted to keep with him for now, and none of those were just simply things. 

“Of course,” Knockout said offhandedly. “Big events like this are rough, so if I can ease discomfort then I will.”

The corner of Starscream's intake tugged up. “I thought you said psychiatry isn't your field, doctor.”

Knockout gave an ironic little laugh, glancing at the ceiling. “This isn't psychiatry, Starscream, this is friendship. And even if it wasn't, I'm off the clock and my license’s been revoked, so technically I'm unable to give you any kind of medical attention.” He smiled his slightly smug smile at his comments, the charming and mischievous expression that sometimes seemed like his default setting in place, but now there was an aftertaste of desperation in his jokes. 

Starscream sampled on the undertones and leaned his helm on his servo, letting himself droop a bit on his stool in a way he knew he looked both relaxed and good. “How sweet of you,” he said, even mustering a tired smirk to go with the comment. “I feel so cared for.”

Knockout raised an optic ridge at the comment like he didn't quite appreciate him joining in on the joke. “Well thanks for the appreciation. That's rare from you.” There was a defensive thorn hidden in his voice, but still he didn't make a move to leave the situation. It would have been very easy to just set the cube aside and walk away from the kitchen. The apartment was too small to avoid the other, but the gesture would be crystal clear. 

Starscream clicked his glossa at the comment and finally drank the last of the high-grade in his cube, setting the empty glass on the counter. “I know it is, and you should appreciate that while you have it.”

“I'm appreciating you alright,” Knockout threw back, probably with a warmer tone than he had meant, evident in the way he kept turning the cube in his servos even if he didn't avert his gaze. 

Something dark reared its helm in Starscream's chassis, something very similar to the disdain towards his coworkers and the guilt about the prayer bells. He put his helm to his servos and peered at Knockout curiously, and something in his gaze made the other finally put the cube down on the counter. 

“You really do care about me,” Starscream said softly. 

Knockout smiled his skewed smile and leaned his hipplate against the counter, but despite his smile he looked serious. “Yeah, that I do.”

The dark thing tightening its hold around his spark enjoyed hearing that. Starscream enjoyed hearing that. This was what he was missing the most, the feeling that someone cared. Before there hadn't even been need for words, he had felt that caring thrumming in his spark and rushing over his plates in EM fields, and he had been warm and secure in that. It had been sweet bliss, and now there were only replacements. 

“I've been thinking... It was really kind of you to stay with me even after Decepticons disbanded. I'm glad that your feelings aren't just for a fellow officer,” he continued. 

Knockout chuckled dryly. “Are you sure? I could just be exceptionally dedicated and persistent.”

Starscream joined in the short laugh but covered his intake with his talons. “Persistent you are, but I think you and I both know dedications to the cause is not what either one of us is made of.”

“Well there you go, I'm persistent,” Knockout said, leaning his elbow on the counter and balancing his weight between that and his right pede. “And stubborn, and you can't shake me loose that easily.” 

Starscream tilted his helm and smiled. “I'm glad I can't.”

Knockout's gaze flickered between his optics and his lipplates, and his strange serious smile was growing more skewed again while his optics darkened. He glanced briefly at the bottle and the empty cubes at the counter but quickly looked back to the seeker again. “Anytime. We all need some caring in our lives. Why do you think I date?”

Knockout's dates and free time weren't what Starscream wanted to talk about, but he quirked his optics ridges and pursed his lipplates at the comment anyway. Actually he didn't want to even think about that, about Knockout out and charming whoever he wanted so easily and effortlessly, free and careless and unafraid. 

“Dating has never worked for me,” the seeker said. “I'm not like you. I don't just go and get along with anyone. I can't be with someone I don't know well, whom I don't trust, or whom I haven't tested by my side.” He dropped his gaze to the counter and let the silence between them grow and stretch. He heard more than saw Knockout shift before him, getting a bit closer now that the conversation was more intimate. 

“Aw, you're a bit shy,” Knockout chuckled, leaning on his elbow and with that a bit closer to Starscream. 

“I'm not shy,” Starscream claimed with pursed lipplates, “that's just not the kind of thing I want. It would feel odd and wrong, and it wouldn't ease the loneliness either.” 

Knockout's optics widened ever so slightly and then his gaze softened, and he straightened up a bit from his slumping pose against the counter. “Loneliness is awful, I know.”

Starscream inspected the other mech's features and gestures carefully without bothering to be subtle about it. The grounder was inhabiting a strange combination of aloof and alert, as if he was constantly on guard but masking it with his usual relaxed charm. Starscream wondered if he was like this on his dates too or only here.

He was teetering right on the edge of his stool with the tips of his pedes touching the floor. If he would have lifted his helm and let his servos fall on the counter he would have bumped Knockout with both of them.

“You like me, don't you?” he asked, glancing from under his ridges.

Every signal coming off Knockout blared tense and alert, but still he smiled and gave a lazy half shrug while staring straight back at the other mech. “I do like you,” he admitted as if on his own accord.

“Then comfort me?” Starscream said quietly. 

There was a sharp look in Knockout's optics. The air stood still between them as they stared at each other, unblinking and bright, and then Knockout leaned a bit closer. Carefully as if advancing towards something hostile he inched towards the seeker and into his personal space until his thigh was between Starscream's knees but not quite touching, and Starscream parted his legs just enough to allow him to do that. Carefully Knockout lifted his servo and rested it against the seeker's face, his gesture feigning casual and his expression strictly neutral as if he was inspecting a patient even though his thumb was lightly stroking the decorative seams of Starscream's faceplate.

Being touched made a low current zap through Starscream and made his wings jump subtly at the unexpected sensation. He felt himself tensing up despite his efforts to stay relaxed, and for a klik the simple sensation of someone's digit petting his faceplate threatened to overwhelm him. When he got himself under control again he was leaning against Knockout's servo and staring at him with his optics wide and bleary, and the grounder was carefully regarding him with half-lidded optics, helm tilted and lipplates parted. 

Starscream stopped hesitating and leaned in for a kiss and found Knockout ready and waiting for him. It had been eons since Starscream had last kissed anyone but some things just refused to be forgotten, and even if he came across clumsy or stiff Knockout was too busy making up for it to care. His other servo rose to Starscream's face to hold him too when they kissed, caressed his cheek for a klik before slipping to hold him by the back of his neck. Starscream was sitting on the very edge of the stool and craning his neck to get a better angle, and Knockout seemed to indulge him in every way he could, holding his face and slowly pressing closer as they kissed, slow but definitely not chaste. 

The kiss sparked current between them and tasted of high-grade and the combination was making Starscream dizzy faster than the drink he had downed, so much so he didn't even realize that Knockout was suddenly so close his chassis was pressing against his, nor had he realized he had lifted one of his own servos and rested it on the grounder's back. The slight disorientation was understandable Starscream decided since Knockout was kissing him up to high heavens and back; it might have been partially that it had been a long time, but definitely not entirely that alone. Knockout was a great kisser, patient and thorough but not too aggressive, using his servos to gather him close and cares him while letting his lipplates do the talking and finding just the right angles to slot them together, making the kiss the prefect combination of classy and wet. 

Starscream's heels screeched on the floor when he pushed himself off the stool and into Knockout's arms, and he was well received. Knockout held him like he had expected him to slip off his seat and into his arms at any moment, and Starscream wrapped his arms around the other mech's neck. He was drowning himself into the kiss, drinking all of it in like yet another cube of high-grade. He didn't think about anything, his frame knew what to do and what it wanted, and he let it take it from there. 

As the kisses carried on they were slowly becoming deeper as Knockout dared to test the waters, and as he flicked his glossa against the seeker's lipplates trying to gain entrance his servos roamed, the other moving from around his shoulder back to the back of his neck while the other dipped lower. He was bold in his caresses, flattening his palm against the seeker's frame and sliding it across his curves with no intentions of pretending he was doing anything else than what he obviously was, and finally the servo slipped around Starscream's waist. 

The dizziness was relentless and Starscream swayed on his pedes a bit, his knees threatening to buckle under him and he found he wouldn't have minded that. He didn't know if he was to credit the overcharging or the kissing for the feeling but he didn't care, just let his frame relax and yield against the grounder who accepted him so eagerly. 

Despite being shorter than the seeker Knockout definitely wasn't lighter nor did he waver under the other mech's weigh. He was broad and curvy and Starscream's slimmer frame fit against him surprisingly well, and the way he touched him, pulling and palming with confidence and tact made it feel like he was molding the seeker anew, charming the metal and calling it to him. His servos were warm and slightly damp after handling the class cube and gathering the condensation from it, and they followed the curves and lines of the frame under them easily like they had traveled those paths a million times. Knockout's nimble digits and warm palms found their way everywhere, easily slipping under the shoulder-guards and fondling the thick cables there, his sharp digits teasing the tiny gaps there as if threatening to sink through the metal and mesh straight into the sensor net, and his antics there made Starscream squirm against him and groan into his intake. 

The other servo on his hipplate was doing the same thing but was much more careful and subtle in a considerate sort of way, like it wasn't quite clear yet if it was welcomed to touch everything. Knockout caressed the curve of the plate on Starscream's side, sliding back and forth and teasingly avoided blatantly grabbing his aft even though it would have been the next natural step. Instead Knockout was heart-breakingly interested in caressing the seeker's side and lower back, fingering the tip of his spinal strut and following the seams in zigzag along his flank before coming down again and teasing the robust cords in the juncture of his leg and pelvic plate. 

It was polite but also infuriating after a while. After all, the grounder was busy kissing the other senseless, lipplates open and his glossa lewdly tickling the insides of his intake, pausing only for a klik here and there to puff air into the intake he had left yearning and placing a mockingly chaste kiss on his lipplates before diving in again. Compared to that the way his servos were touching Starscream's frame was strangely mismatched and it was quickly making him restless, squirming in his hold and letting his own servos roam, grasping at the other and pulling him closer. 

Starscream was just about ready to pull back and demand what he was waiting for when Knockout finally moved on, and so smoothly it took the seeker by surprise making his gasp when the grounder suddenly slid his servo down past his hipplate and down the length of his thigh, took a hold behind his knee and lifted his leg to his waist. Reflexively Starscream hooked his leg around Knockout's waist, leaving himself balancing on one pede while leaning flush against the other, and the sudden raise in intimacy made his faceplate burn. Just standing close together had been a lot to him but now they were almost entwined together, and Starscream became suddenly aware how his legs were parted and how Knockout was holding most of his weight in his arms like this. He kept his optics offline. 

Knockout pulled back from the kiss and his free servo moved to support Starscream by his back, right between his wings. Knockout rocked them together slightly as if they were dancing to slow music and pressed their helm crests together, and when Starscream dared to online his optics he found Knockout looking back, his optics dark and dim. 

Knockout leaned in for a klik to brush their lipplates together. “You're shaking,” he muttered. 

Starscream's spark jumped when he realized it was true. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something deep and dark where his wings wouldn't be any help to him, and no matter how much he wanted to control himself his frame was on overdrive with all the sensory flood it was experiencing. “I hope you don't mind,” he said, faking confidence. 

“Oh, no, I don't mind at all,” Knockout assured him, his voice low and barely louder than a whisper. He nudged Starscream's helm with his own crest and breathed hot air onto his lipplates. “I would lift you on this counter and eat you out right here if you let me.”

Starscream shivered and flushed. He didn't know what to say but he burned at the very thought, even if the thought of letting Knockout press his face between his legs made him nervous. 

“Or whatever you want,” Knockout said, kissed the corner of the seeker's intake, then his cheek and then the side of his helm, warm air puffing at his audio receptors. “Just tell me.” He kissed him again, trailing down from his audio receptors to his neck. 

“I...” Starscream managed to rasp out. The kisses were tickling him and making electricity spark in his wires. “Berthroom.”

Knockout mumbled something acknowledging into his neck but didn't move immediately, instead choosing to hold Starscream against himself for a moment longer, and for a klik there Starscream wondered if the other planned on carrying him there. Eventually Knockout let go of Starscream's leg even if he didn't let the seeker himself go, and they started their swinging walk from the kitchen towards the berthroom with Knockout pushing Starscream who submitted to the arrangement, walking backwards. 

The berthroom was just about the only part of the apartment that hadn't benefited from Knockout's resource hoarding. It was still small and cramped and had only their paddings on the floor on opposite walls, and right here lay a problem if they intended to share a berth: there wasn't room to share. But Knockout acted like this was all very natural, and as soon as they were inside the little room he kicked the door shut, let go of Starscream's hips and stepped past him to rearrange the paddings. 

Starscream stayed by the door awkwardly. He was charged up and flushed hot with it, restless on his pedes and his lipplates aching after the session in the kitchen, and now his plating was quickly crawling with cold when he wasn't wrapped around another bot. That aside, the small dark space that was their berthroom made him feel more confident than the open, dimly lit kitchen, and he let himself feel the deep craving in the depths of his frame already lurking there. 

All the rearranging needed was just dragging one padding across the narrow floor space and next to the other, and after doing that Knockout turned around again and offered a servo to Starscream, who gladly took it, allowing himself to be pulled against the other mech again. 

Knockout reached to his faceplate like he had in the kitchen, but this time instead of devouring him he pulled him down into a gentle, lingering kiss. Starscream allowed that much, offlining his optics and succumbing to what was to come. The heated promise uttered in the kitchen still made him burn. 

While they kissed Knockout let his servos trail down from the seeker's helm, down his sides and all the way to his hips where he stopped, held him for a klik and then spun them around before pushing him towards the paddings. Starscream went as he was guided, and when his heels hit the edge of a padding he gracefully crouched down and pushed himself in the middle, just avoiding the seam between them. Knockout wasted no time in coming after him, crawling towards him on all fours while keeping him pinned down with his gaze. 

Starscream shivered while leaning back against his servos and watching Knockout corner him. He hadn't ever seen the grounder looking like this, not even in his imagination, and it was making him tremble ever more. He couldn't have imagined this was what Knockout was in the berthroom, radiating comfort and confidence and commanding the space without relying on force, simply charming him into wanting to play along in whatever he had planned. 

With only a few strides on his servos and knees Knockout reached Starscream, rose to stand on his knees and reached for the seeker with his servos. His digits curled around the tips of Starscream's knee-guards and gently coaxed him to open his legs so he could crawl in between them. He leaned down and over the seeker there, balancing on his knees and reaching with his right servo to touch Starscream's belly. His sharp digits scratched lightly at the bottom tip of the canopy while his palm pressed down just under it, gently kneading down at the thick cords and ever so slightly brushing against the codpiece below, all the while staring straight into Starscream's optics and letting him know that was intentional. 

Starscream felt his frame cycling more and more air by the klik cycle and current dashing through his systems, bringing forth protocols that had long laid dormant. He felt hot and restless but at the same time intensely focused, and there was a dark craving inside him that coiled and sparked and wanted to be filled. Starscream shivered under the intensity of Knockout's gaze, but it also made him feel alluring and graceful, and with all he had he raised his wings in a high angle and let his frame do as it wanted. 

“You are beautiful,” Knockout uttered under his breath as he slided his servo up from the seeker's belly and to his chassis where he put his weight, pressing the other down. “I want to frag you so much right now.”

Starscream felt giddy and breathless as he was pushed down but he went anyway, and then Knockout was leaning over him, on top of him, and there was a bright gleam in his optics as he peered down at the seeker there. “Yes,” Starscream whispered. 

Knockout captures his intake into another kiss, and this one was different from the ones before in how shameless it was. There was no coy persuasion, no coaxing and no breaks, this was a full attack full of glossa and dentae, and just the intensity alone made Starscream moan into it with a muffled voice. 

There was now time for words or shyness, and Starscream was tired of waiting anyway so he just let his knees trap the mech between his legs and used them to pull him closer. Knockout wasn't so much lying there as he was crouched down in a wide stance on his knees, each of them under Starscream's thighs and Starscream almost in his lap, and with a strong yank Starscream shifted them just enough that he got Knockout's panel flush against his aft. 

Knockout groaned at the contact and his servos moved lower to clasp on the seeker's hipplates to keep him there, and then he started rocking. Starscream had to yank his helm to the side from the wet kiss to moan, and he mirrored the movements as well as he could from where he lay. Other than that he couldn't muster up the processor power to do much else, he just rocked back with his hips, ran his servos up and down Knockout's sides and let the low moans spill from his vocalizer. 

The weight of the other wasn't that heavy on him but still he felt crowded and overpowered, his wings struggled under him and his cooling systems were practically wheezing, and he loved it all. He hummed and moaned quietly, letting his optics offline and himself get lost in the heat building up inside of him. He allowed himself to fully feel the need that hadn't flared up like this in eons and how it was making him strained and wet under his panels. 

Knockout pushed a servo between their frames and smoothed it over Starscream's panel. It wasn't a forceful touch but it was a direct one, all done without subtleties and there with clear intentions. Knockout licked into Starscream's intake and trailed the sharp tips of his claws across his panel, and shivering and bucking Starscream opened his panel. 

Knockout made a pleased sound in the back of his windpipe, and when Starscream onlined his optics he saw him peering down, trying to see as much as possible. On his face he had an eager smirk and the tip of his glossa licked at the corner of his intake, and Starscream was just about to open his intake and tell him to stop staring when he felt against his aft the unmistakable shifting of plates and then something firm and wet. The seeker went rigid as if pulled from a string. 

Knockout looked back up at him with one quirked optic ridge and a lopsided smile. “You're so pretty inside and out.”

Starscream flushed. “Don't say things like that!”

Knockout's smirk grew wider and sharper and without a comment his optics turned towards the lower half of the seeker's frame to admire what he saw there, and soon his servo followed. 

Starscream tensed when Knockout's digits trailed down his chassis and canopy, flicking at the tip and dancing towards his array, and without any hesitations those digits touched him there, sliding down from the tip of his spike to the base and slipping to his valve. The contact sparked a powerful surge of tickling electricity, and Starscream let out a shuddering whine and let his helm drop back. Knockout hummed at his reaction, and his digits twirled around his valve before traveling up again, caressing everything on their path and repeating the earlier antics, and in his fascinated concentration lowered his helm to rest on Starscream's belly. 

Starscream trembled from helm to toe struts. He felt his joints and hydraulics straining in his thighs but the spread of his legs was too delicious to give up, even if the lewd position with his spinal strut arched, helm tipped back and his thighs open made his faceplate burn with embarrassment at the same time. He felt exposed and shameless, dark and beautiful at the same time, and somehow he felt that from this point on everything was going to be easier, so much easier than the words and permissions and the awkward walk from the kitchen to the berthroom. Now he was ready, and even though stunts like this weren't really like him, his frame hardly cared. His frame knew what to do, this was as simple as flying, and Starscream allowed himself to just fall. 

Knockout's touch was certain and methodical but by no means clinical. His digits rubbed, probed and caressed with bold, large strokes, never shying away from anything and never losing their focus, and it was easy to surrender to them. The tips of his digits felt every seam and ever ridge on the seeker's spike, from the leaking tip down its elegantly modeled length down to the very base, curiously caressing and mapping out the bumps and ridges, giving it a few firm pumps before thumbing the pointed tip until Starscream bucked up to his touch and let out a thin whine. 

“I like your spike,” Knockout muttered casually against his canopy. 

Starscream felt the insides of his tank flipping and his spark scorching his insides, his energon pumping faster. “I told you to not speak!”

“Mm so you did,” Knockout said in a groan. “But with an array like this you can't really expect me to be quiet, can you?”

Starscream didn't see the logic of the comment and lifted his helm about to say something, but when he looked down at his own frame he saw what was coming of this: He saw Knockout still crouched between his own spread thighs, resting his helm on his belly like a lover and staring down at his array with bright optics, and the mech's beautiful, graceful servo wrapped around his spike. The sight made his tank flip again, and with a breathless gasp Starscream let his frame collapse back down again, staring up to the ceiling while he took deep calming breaths.

“It's beautiful,” Knockout continued his commentary. “Just the right size. I like your valve too. So soft and silky, I bet you're sensitive as well.”

“Just... Just get on with it,” Starscream managed between his heavy venting.

Knockout huffed a laugh and kissed his canopy before giving him a look sparkling with mischief. “Of course,” he said without stilling his servo for a moment. 

Starscream tried to brace himself with his heels on the padding, but that meant spreading his legs even further apart and when he did he felt the cool air of the room touching his inner valve lips and the hot, sensitive depths, and he could only imagine how it looked. He covered his intake with his servo and allowed himself to make small noises behind, a bit more confident with the attempt at silencing himself even though it didn't work perfectly. 

Knockout just chuckled at him, and then his servo slipped from the base of his spike to explore his valve. Starscream was sensitive after such a long break in intimacy that the simple touch of digits sliding against his outer valve lips made him buck up and gasp loudly, and judging by the amused hum the other mech took note of it. Knockout used three of his digits, sliding them up and down and up and down the seeker's valve, spreading the folds and massaging the soft mesh. He trailed them all around without missing one square inch anywhere, rubbing and kneading the sensitive array until it was hot and wet and plump, practically shimmering with charge, and the seeker beneath him was trembling and panting and clutching at the padding under him with his talons. 

The grounder's thumb caught on the rim of the valve entrance and lingered a bit too long to be an accident, and Starscream thrashed under the touch, a hot wave flashing through him and the insides of his frame suddenly aching. He felt himself baring down on nothing. 

Knockout hummed appreciatively and took a more comfortable position between his legs. He pressed the heel of his thumb against the little hole and nudged it around a little, slippery in the lubricant blooming out there. “Do you like this?” he asked. The very tip of his digit was just about to breach the entrance, or maybe it already had but it didn't ease any of the craving Starscream felt and he didn't register anything besides _not enough_. He didn't reply anything beyond panting and a low moan.

“Is this what you want?” Knockout asked, pressing on despite the silence. The tip of his thumb was definitely inside now, and that was all that Starscream could think about. His insides burned, his faceplate burned, and he wanted to squirm and clench but could only lie still, too stunned and too overwhelmed to move. 

Knockout was moving his thumb carefully, minding the sharp tip and using the blunt heel to tease the rim, slipping outside and back inside again and slightly stretching it, giving the sensation of penetration but at the same time making him feel so empty. “Do you want this?” he asked again. 

Starscream sank his talons into the padding and let out a long whine. He felt his inner calibers bearing down on nothing and his confused sensors lighting up and sending a pulse after pulse into his system. It had been so long since he had had someone else touching him it felt like the first time all over again, and the raw sensitivity was as insufferable as it was enticing. Finally he let his servo slip from his intake and he panted out: “Yes, yes I want, I want it.” 

Knockout let out a pleased moan at his words and his broken restraint, and with that he pulled his thumb out, switched it to his foredigit and pressed it inside, all the way down to the last joint.

Starscream shivered and mutely gasped air into his systems. Intrusion inside his frame felt strange, and yet good and familiar and it lit up the dense sensor net, allowing him to feel every last spark of sensation there. He felt his calibers flaring and then squeezing back down, he felt the delicate mesh stretching and molding to accommodate the digit inside him. He became acutely aware that it was a digit of another mech that was caressing him in that way, his cooling fans were blowing at their highest setting and he whined towards the ceiling. His heels slipped on the padding and his entire frame squirmed, and he couldn't stop his valve on clenching down and flaring as if trying to suck the digit in deeper. 

And it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. He felt himself stretching but he knew he could take more, he wanted more, and he would take anything he could to satisfy the ache inside. 

Knockout moved his digit lazily in and out, exploring and testing but not really giving much pleasure that way. The vibe coming from him was steady and strong despite his lazy movements, and as he got used to the small stretch Starscream's curiousity became more immediate and he searched for the grounder's gaze. 

He found that Knockout was slowly changing position. He had already stood up a little bit from his crouched down pose and slowly inching up the seeker’s frame. He was still watching his own servo working between the seeker's legs, but something made him glance up and he caught Starscream's optics. He had a dark look in his optics now and his playful smirk had turned into a more determined seriousness now. His lipplates were gleaming, wet and pursed. He was fierce and beautiful. 

“I want you between my wings,” Starscream blurted out. 

Knockout raised his optic ridges at the sudden request, and then his gaze flickered to Starscream's trembling wings that tried to move under his weight. 

Starscream reached out to him with his servos, grasping him by the arm and the grill of his shoulder guard. “Accommodate me this one time, please. I don't care what you do, just lay between my wings while you do it.”

Knockout didn't say anything and it seemed to take him a few kliks to process the request with the seeker's talons clawing and pulling at him, but then he slipped his digit out and rested his full weight on his servos now on both sides of Starscream's midsection. He dove down to claim the seeker's lipplates in a deep kiss that was almost painful against his already kissed out intake, and then without a warning he sat back, took a hold of Starscream's arms and unceremoniously flipped him over on his front. 

Starscream yelped when he thumped down on his chassis on the padding, his wings high up in alert and his heels pointing towards ceiling. He didn't have any time to recover when Knockout was already pushing his knees apart again, settling down between his legs and grasping him by the hips, yanking him towards himself and guiding him to rise up to his knees. Starscream's cheek pressed into the padding as he turned his helm to look behind, and between his alert, shivering wings he saw Knockout leaning over him with a twinkle in his optics. 

“Is this good?” he asked.

Starscream's systems were on overdrive and his cooling system straining, and he could only nod. He knew his optics were wide and bright, he felt the charge thrumming through his every circuit down to his very core, and the way Knockout was running his servos over his hipplates and down his aft made him tremble in a way he was sure was noticeable. 

Knockout smiled at him, not the skewed one from before but in a genuine, gentle way, and he let his frame fold over Starscream's so that he was between his wings and could kiss the back of his neck. “Your wings are beautiful,” he muttered against the hot plating. 

Starscream pressed his forehelm to the padding and offlined his optics. 

The tip of Knockout's spike felt hot and way too broad and it made Starscream jolt away when he first felt it against his valve, even if his frame only ached and produced more lubricant in its hunger. He had only felt the grounder's array but hadn't looked, and he consoled himself that it only felt big in this position and because he hadn't had anyone in a long while, and he only needed to trust his frame and its instinct to take it from here. 

Knockout must have felt him tensing because he took his time, kissing the back of neck and down his spinal strut, gently pressing the tip of his spike against the valve entrance, coaxing it to relax and spread for him. He pushed, slow but relentless, and even though the sensor cluster lit up in as much alarm as it did in pleasure, the stretch was steady and painless, and Starscream opened his intake in a voiceless moan as his frame took it. The slide was easy but the stretch made his insides feel like jello, he was slowly filling up and it made his joints go weak, and it was just going on and on, his calibers flaring and adjusting and sucking the spike in, he felt himself pulsing and electrifying, and suddenly his voice was back. He gasped and whined against the padding, gasped again and then moaned, rubbed his helmcrest against the soft mesh and pulled his arms under his chin, both for support and cover. 

Above him Knockout let out a strangled groan as he rolled his hips against the seeker, planted a wet kiss on his spinal strut and ran his servos up and down his flanks. ”That’s it,” he muttered encouragingly, “you're doing so well. You feel so good, you feel much better than I even imagined – “

“Shut up,” Starscream managed to snap breathlessly, “no talking, just move.”

Knockout hummed against him and did as he was told, pulling out and pushing back in again. His spike was pleasantly modeled and its surface was soft and smooth against Starscream's inner calibers, it was hard and wet with lubricants and as he pushed back in Starscream noticed its shape. It was bumpy along the shaft as if made of several oval shaped parts that made him feel the stretch multiple times within one slide in. It was not unpleasant but surprising and it kept him alert as his entrance had to unfold and clench and unfold again, and his inner calibers got the same treatment, yielding and molding to the shapes they were gripping. The buildup of charge was harsh and overwhelming and at the same time so sweet and exquisite it left his core as well as the furthest nooks of his frame aching. 

Starscream moaned in his want and let his processor empty itself. There was nothing to think about, nothing besides the pleasure coiling inside him as it was forced into his systems, nothing but the dark need burning deep inside his chassis that wanted to be filled, he wanted to be filled and satisfied so thoroughly he would black out. The charge burning inside him abolished all the shame and coyness he had left, leaving him feeling beautiful and needy as he pushed his hips back, rolling them against Knockout and smiled to himself when he heard a moan in response. 

The moan wasn't the only thing that he got, but Knockout made his thrusting rhythm more powerful and slightly faster, dragging deliciously against his valve walls and bucking his hips back against him in avid manner. His servos caressed his sides but slowly traveled down to his hips where they grasped on the angles of the plates and took control over the seeker's movements as well, syncing them up. 

Starscream sighed and groaned as his aft was yanked higher up and the spike slipped deeper inside of him. He let his intake hang open and the noises pour out, a series of keening cries that he could physically feel exciting the other. He felt so wonderful like this, aft up and his spinal strut bent with his helm on the padding, offering himself up to be filled and pleasured, the wild excitement about acting this wickedly burning in his lines and wires and adding to the purely bodily experience. He felt like this would burn him pure, wash something out of his very spark and banish the darkness recoiling inside of him if he'd only feed it enough pleasure. 

None of these thoughts were in words, only as raw code rushing through his processor that was too busy handling the sensory data spiking through the frame to decode, and still he blindly chased the overload hoping for a total reboot that would leave his system clean.

Knockout was leaning over him and grasping his hipplates almost painfully tight as he rolled his hips against him and ground his spike into the yielding mesh of the valve. He was surprisingly quiet, he didn't moan or cry out, the only sounds coming from him being the wheezing of his cooling fans and his panting and the occasional deep hum of pleasure from the back of his intake. And still he didn't feel distant or dispassionate, quite the opposite. Starscream loved the way he moved, so powerful and almost brutal but strangely smooth, never jabbing at anything unpleasant or making him uncomfortable. It felt like he was dancing with him, letting himself to be led and sunken into the rhythm, taken apart and put back together. 

And then Knockout's servos started wondering again, the left one almost immediately finding its way to Starscream's wings. When his palm smoothed its way across the large plate of a wing Starscream yelped and thrashed on his place, turning his helm sideways to give the other mech a scandalized look.

Knockout's faceplate was flushed and he was panting through his parted lipplates when he returned the look, his hips never faltering. He raised an optic ridge. “Sensitive?”

Starscream shook his helm the little he could. The grounder was stroking his wings from base to tip, touching places he couldn't reach himself. He felt his wires thrumming with charge and something warm and pleasant slipping into the bottom of his tank at the gentleness. 

“Yes or no here?” Knockout asked, the tips of his digits trailing the edge of the wing. 

Starscream offlined his optics. The dark desire within him was undecided, both recoiling and reaching for the intimate caress. “Yes,” he said. 

With the permission Knockout reached out with both of his servos and ran then up his back and onto his wings, kneading the large plates with the heels of his palms. 

Starscream hummed in delight and felt himself growing boneless under the touch. Another deep humming noise left his vocalizer and he arched his spinal strut, letting his cheek mush on the padding as he enjoyed the treatment. 

The thrusts into him had hardly stopped, Knockout continued his pace that was slowly growing more forceful and insistent, but with the rubbing at his wings the charge suddenly flooded a bunch of whole new systems that had come online. This was what he had been looking for, this was what he had been missing this whole time he thought as he let himself sink lower and go even more pliant under the weight of the other, submitting to him and accepting whatever he was offering just so he'd keep touching his wings like this. A long, bodily moan left his vocalizer and his brow furrowed in concentration as he left himself sink into the current. 

“Damn,” Knockout grunted above him, and suddenly seized a hold of both of his wings just like he had previously been holding his hips and used the support to gain a whole new rhythm for his hips.

A yelp left Starscream's lipplates at the sudden change and he jolted a little, but the new sensation was too overwhelmingly euphoric to protest. He felt his heated array straining and hungrily squeezing against and around the new, shorter and faster pumps inside, and his straining spike let out a fat bead of transfluid that he just knew was staining the mesh. He craved for more, the depths of his frame ached, he could feel his systems struggling to store all the current flooded to them, and distantly he was aware of his own voice that was singing an endless stream of whines and moans as his hips were rolling back against the sweet, sweet pleasure. 

Knockout was surprisingly gentle with his hold on the wings even if he was driving his spike in with a force that would have been painful if not for his good angle and the copious amount of lubricant between their arrays. He mainly held on to the wings but when he shifted on his knees and leaned on the seeker more he could run his servos up and down their edges, fingering their angles and the joints connecting them to his frame and then fist his servos on their thin yet stern armour and used them for leverage. 

Starscream was as good as gone already, grinding his hips back at furious intent and panting out thin whines at every burst of electricity surging through him. The dark spots inside him were filling up, he was full of warmth and lust and he could feel his soaking valve gushing lubricant. He as close, so close, ready to plunge off the edge into the blinding whiteness of an overload, his systems couldn't take this for much longer, they were filled up to the brim and soon they would crash, if only for a little bit more, just a little bit. He chased the peak thoughtlessly, his frame writhing and spasming, he whined and gasped, and then – 

The buzz started from deep within him, from the soft mesh and tightly woven wires of his core, and then it struck through him so suddenly that it shocked a wail out of him. A wave of warmth went through him, bathing him in the heat of an overload before everything went dark, and it was like the agony of the charging up was snapped, so suddenly it broke and melted away from him, leaving him tender and pliant and passively taking whatever Knockout still had left for him to give. 

It wasn't much, it turned out, and as soon as the seeker went tense in his overload Knockout switched his pace into a deep, slow grind and one of his servos let go of a wing and dove back between his own legs, and judging by the wet sounds rubbed at his own outer node. It didn't take him much longer than a few kliks, definitely not long enough for Starscream's ride on the high to end, before he suddenly took a sharp invent of air and went otherwise rigid still but his hips still pumping, and Starscream felt a pulse after pulse of transfluid being stuffed into his valve. He moaned weakly at the feeling beneath the grounder but didn't have energy to do anything with it or protest it, so he just accepted the dirty sensation of being filled. 

After he was done Knockout pulled out carefully, and his servos darted quickly to support Starscream's hips as the seeker slumped down on his front, cooling systems blowing and his frame heaving with the air cycling. He helped him lay down and politely got up from between his legs.

Starscream lay on his front with his forehelm pressed into the mesh, trying to satisfy his cooling system's need for air and slowly coming down from his high. The burn and the ache were gone, and slowly interfacing protocols were closing and his system returning within regular parameters. He didn't have the energy nor the will to lift his helm up from the padding, but he forced himself to move enough to close his legs. His joints had been in the extreme position so long they groaned a bit when he finally let them return in the regular position.

He lay still and let his frame cool down on its own and tried to ignore how the fire dimmed down and disappeared, leaving him feeling empty and sticky. He had wet spots and stains on his thighs and neck, his cables and hydraulics were exhausted and his valve was steadily leaking transfluid and its mesh was starting to go sore. He felt tired and dirty but couldn't make himself move. He curled up into himself.

Knockout was still there, sitting by his side but on his own side of the padding and currently going through the crate with his personal belonging by the paddings. He found something he had apparently been looking for, a package of some sort judging by the sound of plastic being ripped open.

It was quiet for a while, and then suddenly Starscream jolted on his place when a damp piece of cloth was placed against his hipplate. He lifted his helm and threw Knockout a weary glare.

“Take it easy. I'm just cleaning up a little bit,” Knockout said without bothering to counter the glare with as much as a joke. 

Starscream just stared up at him with a stony expression and couldn't piece together an argument against that even though he knew he was definitely against such arrangement. 

Knockout could as well have read his mind because he rolled his optics and kept wiping the clothe down Starscream's frame, from his hipplates to his thighs that had splatters of lubricants and transfluid on them. “Just relax. I was inside of you not a klik cycle ago. You can let me wipe you clean at least.”

Starscream felt his faceplate burning at the comment but couldn't come up with anything to snap back since it was all true, and so he hid his helm behind his folded arms and let the other go at it. 

Knockout's touch was soft and careful as he cleaned his thighs. Halfway through Starscream realized his legs were too close together to allow the other in between them, and even though he could have tolerated him wiping him down there as well he definitely wasn't going to part his legs again, and he anxiously waited for the moment that Knockout realized that or tried to peel his thighs open again. 

Against all his expectations Knockout paused when he had wiped his thighs, balled the cloth and tossed it away without trying to move on to the interface array. Starscream took a peek from his hiding place and saw Knockout taking a fresh clothe out the the package, and then laying down on his side next to him. 

“Would you let me?” he asked, a fresh piece of damp cloth already in servo and laid on Starscream's hipplate. 

Reluctantly the seeker twisted his frame into a strange curve, turning almost completely on his side but still keeping his forehelm on the padding and his optics offline. 

There was almost a clinical feeling to Knockout's' touch now that he slipped his servo between the seeker's legs and gently patted his innermost thighs and his valve clean of transfluid and excessive lubricant, never pressing down too harshly or rubbing at anything. After he was done he balled the cloth and tossed it at the same direction as the previous one, and Starscream flopped on his front again. 

Knockout stayed there in silence for a few long klikcycles, and as the silence stretched on Starscream finally dared to online his optics and turn his faceplate towards the other again. He found Knockout watching him with a drowsy look in his optics and his helm leaning on his servo. 

“I'd like to recharge like this too, but I can take my padding to the other side of the room again if you'd like that,” Knockout said. His tone was bizarrely casual just like it had been in the kitchen, as if they hadn't just interfaced and if his panels weren't still open. 

Starscream felt almost a painful amount of self-consciousness and couldn't hold the other' gaze for long. “Uh – This is satisfactory,” he said. 

“Good,” Knockout simply said and flopped down and started to reach for the covers with his pede, clumsily kicking them up until he could reach the corner with his servo and pull it to cover them up to their waists. 

Being covered eased the restlessness and the self-consciousness Starscream felt and for a moment he thought he might actually be able to recharge like that. His frame was exhausted and his cleared-up systems ready for a power down mode, and he curled up a bit and let his optics offline, the absolute darkness easing him further into the calm of the night. 

Knockout shifted closer to him, and the warmth of his frame wasn't entirely unwelcome. For a moment Starscream was afraid that the other mech might try to hold him, but thankfully he kept his servos to himself and just powered down with his flank against his back. 

Starscream wasn't sure if this had been a bad idea or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I finally get to tag Starscream/Knockout for this. They aren't a "thing" but I think this will suffice and at the very least calls for a tag.  
> Sorry for all the smut lately, haha. But it cheers up a woman so here we are. :D 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! If you liked this, please give me a kudos, I'm watching that number daily. Comments of all kinds are always welcome too, I love hearing your thoughts and opinions and interpretations!


	31. You can't argue the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! It's a new year, and here's the first update of it. I love this chapter, and so it's looking god for us. ;>
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments on previous chapters, and thank you all who reblog the promo posts on tumblr. It means a lot. <3

It wasn't every solar cycle that Megatron read through the news this carefully, but today there was most definitely a cause. Obviously the terror attack in Iacon had taken the priority over everything else for an entire week with the investigation and reports and comments from various political figures, mostly from Arc Flame, and everything mundane had taken a back seat. But even with the public safety in jeopardy people eventually remembered why the attack happened in the first place, and that meant that the press was finally starting to cover Megatron and Optimus' little trip to Kaon.

Megatron was keen to search out and read every single article about the occasion in order to gain a whole picture about what different demographics around Cybertron thought about him and Kaon at the moment, and the quest had proven to be quite enlightening.

Even with the Iacon terror strike, Kaon Awoke had still reported about their visit first even though the attack had made the front page. The report on the attack was also the most read article according to the information traffic reports, but the “Primal home visit”, as the Awoke had dubbed the trip, was holding the second place. 

Despite the title that mentioned Optimus' title and referred to Megatron returning home being the only dramatic aspect of the coverage Megatron still counted it among other neutral articles to his favor. There were only a few pictures, all of them of their arrival on the Central Railway Station, and so there was more text. Kaon Awoke reported their visit to Kaon with a short, strictly neutral news article that summarized the event (nothing much there; The Pit Bar remained a public secret even now), and on the side published several commentary pieces both from journalists and the public. Honor was a common theme among them all, honor to the city and honor to its people, honor in the gesture that both the columnists and the public had interpreted as not coming only personally from Megatron and Optimus, but directly from the Council. This was Iacon honoring Kaon, and it had been accepted with thinly veiled bragging and not a small amount of home region pride. 

Interestingly Kaon Awoke treated Megatron and Optimus as a single unit and of equal standing, as Megatron noted with slight amusement. It seemed that the shame of an imprisoned conqueror and the controversy of a Prime had taken a back seat to their reputation as legendary warriors, and the people of Kaon accepted them together like that, as if by reputation and status they were naturally in the same class. All this coverage about his public stance was to Megatron's liking, but it also made a small bit of homesickness sting in his tank. Against all his nature he somehow missed Kaon and its filth, his modest origins, the Pit and even the life of a miner, and reading about himself as something abstract that just visited the city made him realize he had left his home behind for good. He had set himself apart from it and stepped up into a realm of his own, a realm of legends and outsiders, and out of all Cybertronians currently functioning only Optimus was there with him. 

Thinking about Optimus like this made another kind of sting torment his spark and he lay a servo on his chassis. The constant ache he felt around Optimus was becoming a problem worse than ever before. Before there had always been ways to cope with this, there had always been the next battle, the next plan and the next mission. When you were leading an army there was always something to do, and while he had been captain aboard the Nemesis he hadn't spent a single cycle off duty. Optimus had always been on his mind even then, but as an enemy in hiding. He was either out of his sight and far enough for the ache to relent or there was a battle at hand, and a good, violent battle had always scourged Megatron's mind of any thought like nothing else.

But that was not the way things were anymore. Now there was little space and no battles to look forward to, and Optimus was all soft smiles and gleaming optics and whenever Megatron allowed, chattery. Only mechanical exercises were left of Megatron's usual distractions, and he feared no number of swings of a sword would make the throb in his spark stop now. 

He shook himself awake from his thoughts and angrily yanked his servo down from his chassis. He had almost drifted off thinking about Optimus and was now staring at a page of Kaon Awoke without really seeing it. Self-conscious about his slip in discipline he glanced at the door of the study room where Optimus was, and found the door still closed. That was a relief, the last thing he wanted Optimus to catch him doing was _daydreaming_. He ordered himself back to work. 

Iacon's Echo was struggling with their neutrality and proper appearances in its reports. It covered the same events and basic aspects as Kaon Awoke but with more words and even less pictures, and the comments from anyone had been kept at minimum. Several writers had signed the one-spread article done on the “third Primal appearance”, yet the end result still felt cold and impersonal and the leftover space after the short article was filled with vaguely relevant updates on Kaon's rebuilding. Megatron theorized that there had been many disagreements about how to cover the visit, thus the several authors, and the final result was a careful move towards not making a statement, intentional or otherwise. 

But even if Echo valued their neutral stance among their staff, they didn't extend that towards whom they asked for interviews. On the very next page after the coverage of the visit itself was a background article on it, and who else was a better bot to ask about it than Ratbat. 

**  
_“How was the destination of the third Primal appearance decided upon?_  
**

**Council Member Ratbat:** “Decisions such as these are a result of negotiations between all relevant parties. There is no previously agreed upon schedule, but together we aim to be topical and considerate. In preparation for this specific visit there was a meeting between council members and the Primal Bond themselves.” 

**_And why was Kaon the decided destination?_ **

**R:** “It was a big decision that was made together. Kaon is an unusual destination for an event like this, but the city is central on today's Cybertron.” 

**_Before the visitation several riots took place in the city. Why did the Council agree to the visit despite them?_ **

**R:** “There were no events that could be classified as riots, and for that we wholeheartedly thank the police departments of the Badlands. There are always rumors and there are always protests, but the meeting held concluded that even if Kaon is a risky city, the visitation is worth it.”

**_Is there any proof that the attack attempt in Iacon the same solar cycle is a reaction to the visitation?_ **

**R:** “That is incorrect, the attack actually occurred on the solar cycle after the visitation. We have no further comment.”

 

Megatron huffed to himself after reading only half of Ratbat's interview. So typical of them to ask the one mech who had opposed the whole deal the most and the loudest and who had in the past been notoriously pro-caste system, believing his own function placed him above the heavy industrial bots. The choice of a commentator was an insult to the bots of Badlands, although it was fascinating to read this neat and tidy version in quotations. 

Kaon Awoke and Iacon's Echo were the two ends of a spectrum, and just about everything else Megatron came across settled somehow in between them, all teetering on the edge of taking a stand. A thing that could not be read from any publication was that people were slightly on edge and the atmosphere across the planet was a little bit tense. They weren’t scared or anxious yet, but the papers held their opinions back and carefully simply covered the facts without speculating or criticizing further, and Megatron could almost sense the restlessness everyone felt about the attack in Iacon. Thanks to Arc Flame and her quick wits, calming words and efficient actions there hadn't been any wide-scale panicking or chaos, but Megatron could tell the attack had taken everyone by surprise: Everyone had expected it to be one of the cities in Badlands that would finally boil over, but instead it turned out to be the proud and clean Iacon. 

And that was the genius of whoever was behind the mayhem: It had been a shocking move. It might not have terminated anyone – if that even had been the desired result – but just spilling chaos and fire in Iacon was a guaranteed attention-grabber. Now everyone was listening. 

Another smaller note he and his throbbing spark picked up on was the focus on the title of a Prime, and even now it made his mood turn sour if he focused on it too much. If there was one defeat that still burned him after all this time it was never seizing that title or the matrix. Back then, in the beginning of their rise, it had all felt so close and so possible, the ultimate power of their kind, but eventually it had turned out to be out of reach. At least out of his, that was.

And with that his thoughts were back at Optimus, like he was going in circles in his own mind and always ending up back at his dearest enemy, just like they had a tendency to do in real life. And with that as if being summoned, the door of the study opened and Optimus walked out, heading towards the kitchen with an empty cube in servo.

Megatron followed him with his gaze and apparently managed to look suspicious, because Optimus frowned and stopped next to him, trying to peer at the datapad he was holding. 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Megatron showed the pad and the Echo open at it. “Reading the news, obviously.” 

Optimus' frown turned into a look of mild surprise, and he quickly turned to set his cube in the sink before coming back to Megatron's side and peering at the datapad again. Megatron glanced at the abandoned cube and made a note he was surprised: He had thought Optimus was coming in for a refill since he had a bad habit of fueling wherever, usually while at a computer, and thus his meters didn't register the full tank so he was constantly a little bit hungry, and that made following the rationing hard. So either he had indeed fueled enough, or the news topic was interesting enough for him to forget about his tank. 

“Ah, Ratbat's comments,” Optimus said after a quick look. “I’m glad he has the sense and decency to know when he has lost an argument. He certainly is a politician through and through. I don’t think he's going to be trouble for us in the long run.”

Megatron snorted. “No trouble you say? Did we indeed read the same interview?”

Optimus leaned back and tilted his helm at him, regarding him curiously. “Yes, we did. What was your take on it, then?”

“I don't care what pretty words he spins for the masses,” Megatron grunted and threw the datapad on the table. “Pretty lies are still lies. I already know what he thinks of Badlanders, and I know that he will fight to push us all back down where we came from!”

Optimus hummed and considered his words for a klik with his arms crossed and somehow managed to look neither agreeing or disagreeing. It was irritating, and anticipated a lecture coming. 

“I think you and I focused on different aspects,” Optimus said. “I see your point, but that wasn't what I was thinking about while I read the interview. I took something else away from it.”

Megatron rolled his optics and stood up from his seat, circling the kitchen counter until it was between them. Optimus didn't move, just followed him with his optics. “What you took away from this is that Ratbat is a weak-willed mech who lies until his intake foams, and I already knew that.”

Optimus quirked a smile at his words. “So we are just telling each other what both of us already know. Perhaps we should read together more often so we could spare each other from incidents such as this.”

He was in far too good a mood for Megatron's liking, and it made him slightly more annoyed. He rolled his optics and rubbed at the side of his helm paying no mind to his claws screeching against the metal. “Or perhaps you would like to tell me why you consider Ratbat's spinelessness to be more important than the fact that he is lying.”

Optimus gave a half shrug. “I already know that he likes to spin the truth around a bit in his favor, but that's just him as a politician. What I saw in that interview was a cooperative mech who won't make a racket out of one decision that doesn't go his way. Yes, I know he is conservative and a functionalist, but he also cares what the bots on this world think of him. He will bend before he will give up power.”

Megatron hated to admit it but Optimus' words made sense. He had been too busy looking down at the lies and the cowardly display to note the useful things that they meant, such as that Ratbat would probably not make his personal disdain public any time soon, at least as long as the Badlands stood free and thus important. But still, Optimus was too calm about this, and in Megatron's opinion over-looking things himself.

“I agree,” Megatron started and made note of the slight rise of Optimus' optic ridges. “I agree that Ratbat won't become a radical or a rebel. He doesn't have the fire or the will in him to set himself apart and fight, but I also know that some bots don't need the fire or the work to do harm to others.”

Optimus didn't say anything, just watched him with keen optics. He was still casually leaning on the counter but not in a totally relaxed manner as his shoulders had squared and he was clearly preparing for a debate. 

“I hear many things, Optimus,” Megatron continued. “Soundwave is still my optic and audio sensors everywhere, and I know Cybetronians are tired. They are exhausted, the war ran them down, and bots in that condition have a tendency to cut corners and take the easy way. And often the easy way is the one that is the most traveled.” 

“You fear that we will slowly slip back into our old ways,” Optimus said. 

“Slipping is what happened to the Golden Age,” Megatron pointed out. “And it can happen again. If bots like Ratbat continue to wield power, sooner or later their following starts to trample on those these leaders despise. I remember the mines, Optimus, and I know I will carry them in me until I stop functioning.” Megatron really meant that too, that part of his life was ingrained into him deep and permanent. He didn't remember his emergence, he didn’t have any actual complete memories of his orientation by the Well, nor did he remember arriving at the mines, but he did remember living and working there. For a long while his memory was just an endless feed of mining in the darkness, his plating black from the dust and dirt and cycling between fueling, recharging and working. 

“I don't think we will slip that far back,” Optimus said. “Our people fought for so long that we have become something else now. What I fear is that we will slip back into war.”

“Ah yes, the attack! It sure looks like someone else might enjoy that,” Megatron noted with a chuckle, enjoying how his light tone earned him a glare from Optimus. 

“You should take this more seriously,” Optimus dryly replied. 

Megatron gave him a cold grin. “I am. I can see what is going on there clearly enough, Optimus, and I'm quite surprised that you don't. Some bots still have debts to collect, and some are just in pain and frustrated. It's not like a neat and tidy draw can satisfy the eons and eons of oppression my fellow low castes suffered.”

Optimus didn't look impressed or even bothered in the slightest. Actually he looked like he was about to bypass everything Megatron had just said in order to complain about his attitude, and that was exactly what came out of his vocalizer in a klik: “It has to end some day, and it was just lawfully decided that the moment for it was over a stellar cycle ago. Whatever grudges and burdens they bear, they should let the others to learn peace again.” 

Peace and order and growing bitter in silence, letting go of everything personal... Such a predictable thing for Optimus to say, the same things over and over. Megatron had spoken in general, referring to all of his caste and those above and below that were together a part of the same, lowly tier of their society, but somehow Optimus' comment hit him personally. 

“Like you would understand us,” Megatron said with a roll of his optics. “Librarians like you... You never had wounds like we did and you don't understand the pain we carry. You might not have lived in wealth but you had your fill, you were free and you had a full tank.”

His words came out bitter and with a bite of accusation, and it made Optimus frown, turn fully to him and lean his elbows on the counter. His helm was tilted again in that curious angle as he studied the other mech's expression with his sharp optics. “Is this about you as one mech or about your entire caste?”

“Both,” Megatron spat without hesitation. 

Optimus let out a low groan and pressed his thumb against the spot just below his helmcrest. “Here we go again.”

“I know where I come from,” Megatron said with a snarl. 

Optimus fixed him with a tired and somewhat disdainful look. “Where you came from, yes, but that is hardly very relevant anymore. You have nothing in common with those people anymore, nor are you the mech you were when you got out of the mines.”

Megatron let out a cold cruel laugh at that, and Optimus looked away from him. “You try and deny what I am, Prime. Does it bother you that much? That I know who I am, where I am from and what I want?” 

“It’s not…” Optimus started but had to pause to lower his voice that threatened to rise. He gathered his composure and regained his calm before talking again. “You should know who you are now and what you have done! I know the real you, and I’m beginning to think that I know you better than you know yourself.”

Megatron hated that composed look, that attempt at a level-headed argument when the subject was anything but objective or impersonal, and he hated how Optimus hid from him behind his manners and rhetoric. Megatron straightened his spinal strut, standing to his full height and let a new flame of fury flare. “Then tell me, Prime, who am I? What do you in your great wisdom see that I am blind to?!” 

For a moment it seemed like Optimus was rising up to the challenge, his fans flaring and his shoulders squaring, his blue optics blazing with barely contained emotion. “You are a ruthless warrior out for himself! And you have been too powerful for too long to hide behind your modest origins! You are cruel and selfish, and even I’m not certain if you truly believe that you had the right to commit all those horrible deeds during the war or are you just acting like it to anger me.”

Megatron bristled. “I am who I am! Power was always my destiny! And don’t you lecture me about using power either, Optimus _Prime_!”

The corner of Optimus’ intake twitched and his gaze averted from Megatron’s for a fracture of a klik. “I have no power anymore, you know that,” he said, vaguely gesturing at their cozy prison. 

Megatron had to laugh again, this time in genuine victorious joy as he gained the upper hand in the verbal wrestle. “Oh, I know as well as you do that the High Council can imprison you and pull at your strings to make you dance all they like, they can erase your title from their precious documents, but you are still every inch a Prime as you were when you first took the Matrix upon yourself.” Megatron extended a servo towards the other, reaching across the counter between them and pointed the claw of his index digit in the middle of the other’s chassis. “You took that absolute power upon yourself, and you still hold it today. Maybe no one says that out loud, but everyone knows that Primus calls forth Primes, and only Primus can take that away. Everyone knows no mortal power can touch or control you, not really, and you know it too.” Megatron smirked as he spoke, feeling like he was almost summoning that immense power that Optimus held but no one wanted to acknowledge. “Maybe they are all afraid of it. Maybe they are afraid of _you_ , Prime.” 

For a moment Optimus looked like he would snap. The flame in his gaze flared, his optics widened and his expression hardened, and Megatron could tell he had insulted him deeply. The Prime was practically trembling with fury, and Megatron smirked even wider expecting it to finally overflow. 

And then Optimus exvented and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m guarding that power. A part of me accepted it only to keep it away from someone like you.” 

It felt like Optimus’ fury had leaked out of him and infected Megatron instead. Megatron felt his very core heating up white-hot with it and suddenly an impulse to just leap forward and strike the other fell over him. If his insult had cut the other deep, Optimus sure had returned the favor. 

But instead of giving in to the call of violence Megatron just spat through his dentae and turned his helm towards the window, staring at the bright cityscape and waited the throb of rage and insult to pass. It was a painful feeling with a cutting edge that made his optics sting and his claws itch to tear at something, the humiliation of a long-lost dream sinking into his spark like a blade. 

“I should have been the next Prime,” he grunted out. “It should have been _me_.” 

Optimus scoffed bitterly. Some other time he might have been more open and empathetic, but the previous insult was probably still hurting and he didn’t have the will to do that. “You… What would have the title even been to you? Unlimited power for someone like you… No. No, you wouldn’t have done anything good with it.” 

“Like you could understand,” Megatron snapped back, “you haven’t ever been a nameless drone! Someone like you could never understand the freedom a Prime has! A Prime is the only Cybertronian who is really, truly free!” 

There was still stark disapproval in Optimus’ optics when he regarded Megatron, but also a measuring tint that told Megatron that he was listening. But the limit had already been reached, and Optimus didn’t possess any will to be sympathetic, he just chuckled bitterly, optics to the ceiling. “There’s the selfishness again… So every single one of the rest of us should just bow and submit to your tyranny, your whims and your abuse just because you can’t tolerate being dependent on others? You truly are a fool.”

“You never wanted anything in your life!” Megatron growled back. “Are you even capable of wanting anything? Were you ever, or has that thing inside your chassis wiped your drives clean of everything that used to be you?!” 

Optimus let out a strangled huff of frustration, his servos clenching into fists. “I have been fighting in a war, in case you haven’t noticed. Every single Autobot spark vouched to me, and every single one of them was my responsibility. I wanted to bring as many sparks out of that war as possible, there was no time – “ 

Megatron waved him off impatiently. “Yes, yes, of course there was no time, all of your existence has been devoted to the protection of others, you are the last one you ever think about, you are the divine shield of Primus and the light of our age, yes I have heard it all, I know the songs and the myths, so spare me!” He snarled past the words with disgust, and he didn’t even know where it all came from. He had no doubts of Optimus’ sincerity, but maybe that had been it all along: Maybe he had wiped his drives of all personality and wishes of his own, and wouldn’t that be horrid? The freest Cybertronian of their age, and he had chosen to be the lowest servant. 

Something darkened in Optimus’ optics and he bit his lower lipplate. He took several shuddering invents and visibly swallowed. He looked agitated and, it took a moment for Megatron to realize, anxious. When he spoke, his voice was strained and thin. 

“I don’t have wishes of my own?” he repeated. There was a strange look on his face, like he was trying his hardest to stay composed and calm but something was twisting his features. His optics gleamed differently than they had before. “You claim that I’m not even capable of wanting things? What do you know about it?”

Megatron was slightly taken aback by this sudden crack in the façade, but he kept his posture and his chin high. “You say you know me better than I know myself, but I might just say the same about you.”

“That’s not true,” Optimus refused. “I have friends – close friends!”

Something cruel recoiled itself in Megatron’s spark, and his lipplate drew back to show his sharp dentae. “Maybe so,” he softly said, “but you said it yourself: you have been responsible for them all, you have been guarding that great power no other mortal can touch. How well do you think your friends know you? How well could they, when you haven’t let any of them close to you? That would be selfish, now wouldn’t it?” 

Optimus flinched at the words, and Megatron almost felt bad. This wasn’t how they usually fought, this was something completely different. These words cut deeper than any sword could, and this play with fire felt more dangerous than any would-be-final showdown they had ever had. It sent a strange tingling sensation down Megatron’s plating, and he couldn’t tell if it was dread or excitement. 

Optimus tilted his chin back, and a compulsive smile flashed across his face before disappearing. His optics gleamed wet. “Hm. So you say,” he said, his voice soft like never before, all the previous fury suddenly gone. He lay his servos on the kitchen counter and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. “So you say, and here you claim to know me the best. Hm.” It sounded almost like a little laugh, but there was no smile on his face and his digits tapped the counter anxiously. 

And then Optimus turned his gaze back to Megatron, and there was a new spark of determination there, something hard but at the same time vulnerable. It was like heavy armor had been discarded. “I have a spark of my own. I want things just like anyone else, but I am capable of putting them aside when needed. I was given a mission, and I accepted it, meaning to carry it to the very end. But I never gave myself over to it or whatever you might think, the Matrix hasn’t erased me like you claim.” 

Optimus’ gaze was difficult to hold, his sudden determined vulnerability unbearable to look at, so Megatron averted his gaze just slightly. 

Optimus watched him silently for a few kliks more, then continued: “I have wants and feelings. I can be true to myself.” 

Megatron threw him a disbelieving look. “Words without deeds are meaningless.” 

Optimus nodded in agreement. “You want to see me do something selfish.” He laughed a little, a short and soft sound before he fixed his gaze to Megatron again. This time the other couldn’t turn away. 

Optimus’ chin was held high, but as he stared Megatron down his helm tilted to a side a bit. His optics were open and bright, gleaming and sharp. He took an invent and said: “I love you.” 

The words didn’t register immediately. They were strange and disconnected from the situation, and at first Megatron blinked and then frowned. He opened his intake to say something, but then didn’t know what to say. 

Optimus kept staring at him, but seemed to interpret Megatron’s silence as denial rather than processing error because he continued: “I mean that. I’m in love with you. I have loved you since… Since the beginning, I think, and I have loved you all this time.” They stared at each other for a few kliks in silence, and then Optimus suddenly laughed with trembling mirth in his voice. “Oh, it feels so good to finally say that!” 

The words were finally getting through to Megatron – somewhat. They made no sense. “That is… That is a lousy… _strange_ lie – “ 

“It’s not a lie,” Optimus interrupted him firmly. “I mean it, I mean it in the most fundamental sense of the phrase. I love you, and I don’t seem to be able to stop doing that. I have held this inside me through this all, I have carried it and kept it aside so I could do my duty, and now that I have finally got to speak it you could at least believe it!” 

Megatron just stared. His processor was buzzing empty. Whatever he had thought would happen or whatever would be the end point of this particular argument, it was not this. His chassis was throbbing so hard it hurt, and his train of thought seemed to have halted entirely. 

“Why are you telling this now?” was the only thing he was able to ask. 

Optimus smiled, shockingly sweet. “I had a duty before, a responsibility, and that kept me silent. But not anymore. I have no army to lead and no war to fight, and neither do you. There’s no possible way you could use my feelings for you against me, and… Well, maybe it is a time for me to be a bit selfish.” He kept smiling, an irritating self-satisfied smile, but it was also relieved. Relived, unburdened and – happy. 

Optimus pushed himself away from the counter and walked towards him, and Megatron found himself stumbling backwards. Optimus’ smile just widened. 

When Optimus was right next to him, he stopped and tilted his helm back to smile up at Megatron. “I don’t care what you do with this knowledge, but be sure to believe it.” His blue optics almost sparkled when he held Megatron’s gaze. 

“Good day, Megatron,” he said, and with that walked out of the kitchen to the study and closed the door after him. 

Megatron stayed behind, staring ahead. He lay his servo against the table for support and tried to comprehend the situation. 

It just didn’t register. It didn’t make any sense. It didn’t fit into any pre-existing knowledge of the situation, or their history.

_“I love you.”_

There was no sense to be made of this. Megatron just kept staring ahead at the spot where Optimus had been a moment ago, and his processor kept buzzing with white noise, without a single complete thought. He mouthed the words voicelessly to himself, but that didn’t make him comprehend them any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. At last. After millions of years, and after 31 chapters.
> 
> I'd love to hear what you thought about this chapter! Also there's the kudos button if you liked this and haven't already clicked that.


	32. The merciless dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the previous chapter really was something, huh.   
> Thank you all so much for the many comments, kudos and reblogs!   
> And thank you [primus-why](http://primus-why.tumblr.com/) for absolutely losing it, I had such a blast with your many posts! And thank you [soursoppi](https://soursoppi.tumblr.com/) for your awesome art, it was funny and gorgeous and I had such a great time showing it to my friends! You both made my day multiple times. 
> 
> Now I bring you once again a new chapter! Let's see how things progess with our disaster bots.

It was the early cycles of the solar when Wheeljack uncharacteristically pushed himself and made it outside the building. He wondered if the push had started with him taking a shower or if the small apartment was starting to feel like it was confining him now that it was empty. Dreadwing was working long shifts now to make enough credit so he might in the near future move out of the almost slum-like building they lived in now, saying that even though it wasn't completely communal and how that feature alone made it a better place than the building he had lived back in Kaon, it was still a lousy place to live. And he wasn't wrong. Wheeljack couldn't argue, the building was terrible. It was poorly designed, cramped and in a bad neighbourhood, and most importantly it was so cheaply built that it would soon start to break down on itself: the pipes would rust and start to leak, the paint would peel off and all the little systems from sewers to electricity would start to malfunction. 

It would be better to get out now that it was still mostly intact, and if one could work his way into a better life then so be it. Wheeljack just didn't know if that would mean their shared time was coming to an end. If Dreadwing could secure himself a better apartment in a slightly nicer neighborhood, would Wheeljack come with him or was his fate to stay in places like this forever?

Being able to get a nicer place just by working harder might also mean moving out of Iacon, something that was possible for Dreadwing but not for Wheeljack, and that alone stacked the odds against them. On top of that, somehow Wheeljack felt like he wasn't even supposed to move out of the apartment, he wasn't supposed to move out of places like this at all, this was where he had fallen to and this was where he was supposed to stay. The only option for someone like him. 

Though he might be able to move out of Iacon if he just played his cards right, he was about to become a fugitive anyway, and just skipping town without anyone noticing might come into question before long. He entertained the idea while he walked down the street, took a short-cut through an alley and wandered further into the maze of the district. Running away was a nice thought, but it only made sense if he was together with Dreadwing, and that just couldn't last. Wheeljack avoided thinking about the thing they had going on and they definitely didn't talk about it, but it was a fragile thing, teetering on the edge of necessity and sanity, and it felt like something that could only exist within the porous walls of the one-room apartment. If light was shined on it or it was talked about, the magic of it would disappear. 

These were dark thoughts and all of them boiled down to the same core: At some point Wheeljack would have to move on, and currently he didn't see any way he would have been able to do that. 

He arrived at the familiar bar at the corner. It was in the middle of the day cycle but still the establishment was half full with customers, most of them sitting alone and drinking in quiet. Wheeljack walked up to the counter, ordered his regular cheap drink from the tap and was about to join them when he spotted a familiar figure in one of the tables, and the mech there was already trying to get his attention.

Blackout was sitting by himself away from everyone else and had a cheap pint of high-grade in front of him, but instead of a regular pastime he seemed to be having a break of some sorts, and on top of that he seemed to be open for socializing. 

Wheeljack wasn't, and running into someone familiar definitely hadn't been a part of his plan, but then again he had showered in the morning and thus was presentable, and now he had made optic contact and he couldn't exactly pretend he hadn't seen the other gesturing at him. He accepted his defeat, walked over and sat down in Blackout's table. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Wheeljack said when he pulled a chair for himself.

“Likewise,” Blackout replied. “But I'm glad I did. I wanted to talk to you.”

Wheeljack was immediately on his guard but tried to hide it into sipping at his pint. “Really? What about?”

Blackout shrugged. “Not anything specific really, but I came by your workplace on the other solar cycle and thought I'd say hello, but bots there told me you've not been seen in a while. Did you quit?”

A small flame of shame burned at Wheeljack and he drank more. “No, I just haven't felt like working lately. Can't make myself go, so I don't.”

“Ah,” Blackout said with a nod. He seemed to weigh the information for a klik before deciding how to react, but then he gave half a shrug and took a swig of his drink. “Good to know that's how it is. I feared something had happened. I'm not really that surprised either, not really. It's not like a warrior like yourself is fit for simple manual labor anymore.”

Wheeljack tilted his glass to his direction in his haste to join the point. “I know, right?! I'm not a dim-witted concrete hauler, I'm a soldier! Some things just... can't return to the shape they were in, you know? I'm already processed, I can't just turn back into crystals on command!”

Blackout sighed and nodded along, clearly sharing the feeling, and Wheeljack suddenly wondered if the mech was here at the bar for the same reason as he was. An odd sense of unity fell on the interaction once the thought occurred to him, and with that he felt more talkative than a klik cycle ago.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Blackout huffed, rubbing his helm. “And it's not natural, let me tell you! The entire point of our species is transformation, you know? We transform, we evolve, we replace parts of ourselves and become something else, that's what our existence is about. That's what our true function is! And if you ask me, the war was the biggest, most radical transformation since we were liberated from Quintessa, and yet the Council and all the little Departments under them want us to pretend that never happened. As if that's even possible!”

The war was Wheeljack's favorite topic and he would have gladly thrown himself into it for the rest of the solar cycle, reciting old memories about missions, sieges and battles, but this approach was new to him. Something clicked for him when he listened to Blackout talking, and then he suddenly understood what was so difficult about working and moving on: He had transformed. 

“I haven't thought about it like that,” he muttered. 

“Like what?”

“Like a transformation, I guess. But you're right. I'm not the same mech that I was. _Of course_ I can't go back to the same job and take orders like that, I'm not a constructicon, I'm a soldier. A Wrecker,” he said. He was thinking about this new epiphany so deeply he forgot about his drink. 

Blackout just kept nodding with an intense look in his optics. “Yes, you are. And so am I. I don't know about you but I for one consider myself an honest mech, and I won't go around pretending like the last millions of stellar cycles didn't happen.”

“I'll drink to that,” Wheeljack said and then did. 

Blackout toasted his glass to his direction too before drinking, and for a moment they sat in silence, enjoying the high-grade and thinking about their current forms, both glorious and useless. 

Blackout was the one to break the silence. “Since we are on the same page, I think you'd like to know that your friend Bulkhead has been asking around about you.”

An alert flashed in Wheeljack's system and with that the shame was back, though he tried not to show it. “Yeah?” 

Blackout nodded. “He said he went to your apartment but that you don't live there anymore, and that your boss has been asking after you. He wasn't able to reach you either, and so he's set out to look for you. He's been asking anyone and everyone, and he has a rather feisty femme in his tow too.”

That made Wheeljack grimace. “Ugh... That must be Arcee. Apparently I can trust Bulk to get the strictest of our friends to come look for me. The only worse option would have been if he had called on Ratchet...”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Blackout assured him. “This is none of my business, so I'll stay out of it. Call it a favor between warriors.”

“Thanks,” Wheeljack said wholeheartedly. “I don't really feel like dealing with any sort of authority right now... Even my own friends.”

Blackout shrugged and smiled emphatically. “I feel you on that! Once you get used to the black ops style you can't go back.”

That was very much true, but it wasn't entirely about that either, Wheeljack thought. It was true that when the Wreckers had been at their best, they had been allowed to go truly rogue. The missions weren't their ideas nor did they plan them, but as long as they secured the objective they had set out for, they didn't have to fill out a single report.

But it wasn't just the Wreckers, the war in its entirety had had that same sense of freedom to it. Everything was possible and there was the infinity of the cosmos before them, offering everything and asking for nothing. That was what Wheeljack missed the most. 

The silence was stretching, apparently too much if you asked Blackout, because he was still hung up on the same topic while peering at the bottom of his glass. “It's the current power who don't understand this. The Council's full of bots who haven't seen war in hundreds of thousands of stellar cycles, what would they know?”

“Nothing, that's what,” Wheeljack said. Disdain towards passive leaders who looked down on ordinary bots struggling in dirt and energon, too busy to see the glory in that struggle, was an old feature of his.

“The only good thing they have decided on was to toss the Prime out of the spotlight,” Blackout huffed.

Wheeljack's optic ridges jumped in surprise. “How so?”

“Well you know, Primes are important and all, but they are called forth to serve a purpose, right? If you ask me, Optimus Prime has served his by now, and he should step aside and let the natural, earthly order return,” Blackout explained vaguely while glancing at the bottom of his empty glass, a bit regretful. “All the ones before had the decency to step aside after they had served the purpose, at least all of the real Primes. This one is a matrix-bearer, and he definitely should be smart enough to give that up.”

Wheeljack felt suddenly uncertain of this. He knew very little about these real Primes since his caste hadn't been allowed to read much, and most history he knew came from fables, songs and legends, but he did know the power Optimus Prime wielded. It had been something to lean on during the war for many, but Wheeljack had a feeling that it was the kind of power that during peace would start to make bots weary before long. 

“I see your point,” he admitted, “but I'd rather have Prime and Megatron than no Prime and just Megatron around.”

For some reason the comment made Blackout laugh. “I agree with you there, but I can also promise you, if you asked every bot on this planet their opinion on that, you'd get as many answers!”

Now Wheeljack chuckled too. “Yeah, I bet. Some were loud enough about them to try to blow them both up.”

“Nasty business, that one,” Blackout said and made a face. “But I have to confess, I wouldn't have minded if the old buckethead had got a few more scratches in him.”

Wheeljack chuckled. “Very few would have. But it was a sloppy job. Badly planned and poorly executed, as if the target didn't matter. And let an expert tell you, anyone could have been caught in the crossfire there.”

Blackout made a face while nodding along, but after that noted: “Some believe that Primus would protect the Prime in situations like that.”

“Well They are not home, are They?” Wheeljack pointed out. “Besides, I've seen Prime in battle. There's nothing lucky about the way he fights, just a very skilled warrior doing what he is best at.”

Reluctantly Blackout looked respectful and cast his optics down; one might be allowed to doubt and criticize Optimus, but there was also a certain amount of respect due. Wheeljack had felt the embarrassing sting of forgetting about that before. 

“Well, what does it matter anyway?” Blackout sighed eventually. “The world is ending.” 

*

The morning came and was a dreadful experience for Starscream. For the first split of a klik he was blissfully unaware of everything and knew only that he was warm, comfortable and pleasantly sore in the right places, but that was only the first merciful moment. The reality caught up with him soon enough, and the previous night crashed over him, his optics widening as he stared at the ceiling. 

Primus, he had been depressed yesterday. That was mostly gone now, but he still felt the heavy burden of shame about having let his fallen mates down. He was disappointed in himself, and that alone would have been enough to make him feel terrible. Except, it wasn't the only thing. Starscream covered his faceplate with his servos to muffle a groan when he remembered he had taken Knockout to berth the night before. 

A quick glance to his side told him that the other had gotten up already, but he could hear him move about in the apartment and that was bad enough. Starscream turned his gaze back towards the ceiling. Last night had truly been a low point for him, and making moves on Knockout the final mistake in a chain of many others. 

He dreaded getting up and facing his roommate now that they had taken that nosedive together. They had slept together. How could anything be the same after something like that? What if Knockout expected something of him now, maybe some sort of commitment or future trysts like this one? Or something else entirely? Which one of these even was the worst scenario, Starscream couldn't decide. He wanted to hide under the covers, bury his faceplate in a pillow and face a slow termination by overheating there. 

He thought about Skywarp and Thundercracker again, and a new bitter taste rose in his fuel pipe. How exactly had he thought he was making things right by what occurred last night? With nausea came a heavy weight of neglected duty that settled in his chassis, but even with the clear message it was sending him he still didn't think he could go visit the Memorial Park. 

As much as Starscream would have liked to, he couldn't just lay there on the padding for the whole solar cycle and hope Knockout would leave. Avoiding his roommate for now would only prolong the inevitable since they were _roommates_ after all, and so Starscream took one last deep intake of air for courage and pushed himself up. 

Knockout was in the kitchen, apparently preparing fuel, and when he heard Starscream exiting the berthroom, he turned to throw him a casual smile. 

“Good morning,” he said, just like every morning when they happened to still be home at the same time.

Starscream crossed his arms and walked to the kitchen, weary. “Morning,” he replied. Knockout went back to processing energon, and Starscream stayed by the kitchen counter, awkwardly lingering there and expecting something. 

Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Knockout took cubes out of a cupboard while the processor whirred, and when the raw energon crystals were processed into fuel, he poured two cubes full. He took them both and handed one to Starscream over the kitchen counter.

“There you go,” he said. 

Starscream accepted the fuel with nodded thanks.

Knockout smiled, then turned away. He sat down on a stool by the counter, picked up his laptop, opened today’s news and started scrolling while sipping his fuel. Silence followed. 

Starscream started feeling awkward about feeling awkward as he stood there in silence. He didn’t know what he had expected but it definitely wasn’t getting breakfast on just another perfectly ordinary morning in their apartment. Aside from making him breakfast, Knockout acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired between them. 

Starscream took a mouthful of fuel and thought furiously. He could have just gone with the same ease that Knockout was displaying, but he was too restless and guilty to just sit down or to let this slide. He had a gnawing feeling, a sort of anxiety tormenting him, that something had changed, he just didn’t know what. 

“Um… About last night,” Starscream started, barely above mutter and staring at the counter. 

Knockout lifted his gaze. “What about it?” he asked. 

For a moment Starscream just opened his intake and tried to find the right words. His talon tapped nervously on the side of the cube. “I just… I don’t know what you assume of me, but… Uh…” 

“I don’t assume anything of you,” Knockout replied with a tilt of a helm, sipping at his breakfast. “If you want to say last night was a one-time thing, then say it, it’s alright. If it wasn’t, then that’s fine by me too.” 

“I... Right,” Starscream muttered, flustered. Swapping last night aside as a one-time thing had been his intent, but somehow it didn’t feel like enough. It wouldn’t wipe it out of existence, it wouldn’t give back his dignity, and even though Knockout acted like nothing had changed, Starscream knew something had. 

“It was a mistake,” Starscream said to the counter. 

To that Knockout didn’t have a quick and easy reply, and his silence was heavier this time around. “Was it?” he asked after a while, his voice carefully neutral. 

Starscream resisted the urge to squirm, even forcing his talons to stop tapping. “Yes,” he forced out, “I shouldn’t have – Well… It was just this once.” He was still staring at the countertop, but attempting to enforce his point momentarily lifted his gaze to Knockout, who was regarding him with sharp, unreadable optics. The seeker looked away first. 

“Last night can be a one-time thing if you want,” Knockout started, attempting his regular aloof tone but not quite managing to reach it, “but it doesn’t have to be a mistake. I don’t feel like it was.”

Starcream rolled his helm and his lipplates tightened to a line. “Well obviously _you_ don’t, you’re not –“ he stopped himself from saying _bonded_ , because neither was he anymore and thus the argument didn’t make any sense, but that was what he felt. He didn’t know how to articulate that, so he didn’t and settled on throwing a frustrated look towards the other. 

Knockout looked like he understood what had been implied but didn’t finish the thought either. He huffed a short sigh and finished his fuel while scrolling the news. “I’m not going to press this issue or bring it up anymore if that’s what you’re worried about,” he noted, setting the empty cube aside. He closed the news site, the screen turned black, and he got up. “But I know you’re lonely. I’m your friend, and I want you to know that you can come to me if you feel like it, and that can mean anything you want. But I don’t want there to be any kind of shameful mistakes between us.” 

He sounded more serious than usually, and Starscream regarded him from under his optic ridges, shielding part of his faceplate with his shoulder-guard. He didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to deny it, to refuse and smooth it over, but Knockout clearly saw through him and was already calling him out, and he couldn’t bring himself to lie that obviously to his face. 

Finally Knockout grew tired of waiting for a response, so he just sighed again, quirking his optics ridges to himself. He put the cube in the sink and gathered his things. “I have to go to work,” he said, and with that walked out. 

 

Down on the street Knockout transformed into his vehicle mode, joined the flow of traffic and started driving. He still had his altmode from Earth, something that got a lot of second looks from other Cybertronians and most likely made him way too easy to spot for a mech attempting to work as a back-alley doctor, but he just couldn’t bring himself to give up the Aston Martin. It was odd and alien, but it had style like nothing on today’s Cybertron, and Knockout felt certain sentimentality towards it. All of Cybertron had been forced into a transformation by the war and the exile, but his time on Earth had been another kind of transformation. It had been a short period of time, sure, but still it felt like an important crossroads of sorts, something that had done something to him that he felt in his structures and spark, and the altmode represented that. 

He hadn’t yet fully realized how he had changed exactly, and he knew he couldn’t give up the altmode before he had that figured out. He wondered if every Cybertronian was trying to sort out their current form as well. If the war had been some one thing, it was transforming. 

Soundwave was waiting for Knockout in a busy shopping district only a few blocks away from the outskirts of Iacon. The first thing Knockout noticed about the other mech was that Lazerbeak was not folded across his chassis like usual. 

“Good morning,” Knockout greeted Soundwave while refusing the urge to look up and search for the little drone. 

Soundwave nodded back and gestured Knockout with him, and together they walked into a crowded marketplace. 

“I have some new patients for you,” Soundwave said. It was still very odd for Knockout to hear him speak, and it was apparently odd for the other to speak as well since he avoided it as much as possible. “And some news.”

“Oh? Patients I’m always happy about, but news… Those make me weary,” Knockout replied.

Soundwave’s archaic vocalizer rattled with his dry chuckle. “I know. That is why we’ll be talking about the news first and your additional income only afterwards.”

“Fair enough,” Knockout sighed. 

They walked slowly with the crowd, passing many stalls with various merchandise, some full of second-hand goods, some selling jewelry and decorative plating, some offering oil jellies and energon candy. They walked slowly to look like they were browsing, but not slowly enough to draw the attention of the sellers. Knockout noted that energon candy was almost twice as expensive as he recalled it being before. 

“Did you read Ratbat’s interview about the attack attempt?” Soundwave asked.

“I did.”

“What did you think?”

Knockout shrugged. “It seems that the Council still trusts the oldest member to handle the press. Arc Flame does a good job, but she relies on prewritten material in press conferences. I don’t think anyone wants Ratbat to leave the Council any time soon.” 

“Mm,” Soundwave said, vaguely thoughtful. “Our take is that he has no right to that position.” 

Knockout raised an optic ridge. “How so?”

“His seat is provided out of respect for the old order. Everyone else is elected. He is not. This must not be blindly accepted,” Soundwave said. 

Knockout shrugged again. “Some say the same about the Prime. Ratbat’s just one mech. What does it matter?”

Soundwave didn’t respond to his question but turned his blank mask towards him, and Knockout felt his plating crawling under the inspection of the invisible gaze. 

“Some say. Some act,” Soundwave remarked and finally turned to look ahead again. “Tell me about Starscream.” 

Knockout had dreaded the question but tried to mask his discomfort the best he could. He kept his gaze at the stalls they passed, reaching out to briefly inspect cans of home-made wax and brushes for sale but keeping up with Soundwave’s pace. “He’s functioning like nothing is wrong. He’s meek and depressed, that’s about it.” 

“Has he spoken about returning to Vos?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Knockout said. “The Festival was yesterday and he was very upset about it, wings drooping and snappier than usual.” 

Soundwave’s vocalizer let out white noise as he tapped his chin with his thin digits, thoughtful. “He’s homesick, but sentimentally so. This does not interest me. I meant, does he display any aspirations for power?” 

This time Knockout couldn’t resist the squirm, but he tried to make it look like he was just rolling his shoulder. “I told you, he’s just depressed. I doubt that he has any secret master plans for world domination!” 

Soundwave turned his visor towards him again, this time with his helm tilting as he measured the medic from the tip of his helmcrest to his toe struts. “Your care for Starscream does not interest me either,” he noted. “Unless it affects your ability to provide intelligence.” 

Knockout scoffed and rolled his optics. He felt himself growing mean, and couldn’t quite resist the sarcastic tone when he replied: “There’s nothing to hide. If Lord Megatron wants to look for threats, please tell him to tell you to look for bombers instead of widowed seekers.” 

Soundwave weighed his words in silence, and Knockout imagined a formula of reading into it on his blank visor. 

“I just heard that the Council ruled in favor of freeing the visitor schedules for Lord Megatron and Prime. It has not yet been made public, but it will become effective very soon,” Soundwave said. “Lord Megatron takes interest in his officers, especially since they may soon come and go as they wish. He does not expect Starscream to visit him any more than he has to, so he seeks information through other channels.”

“Starscream has plenty of reasons to avoid Lord Megatron. Can you honestly blame him?” Knockout threw back. 

“You two make such a strange pair,” Soundwave remarked. “You are friends, but without any genuine emotional connection formed. You only trust each other with your complaints and grievances. And still you stand here defending him. You comforted him too, I’m sure.” 

Knockout rolled his optics again and scoffed. “I liked you more when you weren’t speaking.”

Soundwave nodded. “Many say that. Even Lord Megatron.” 

*

Despite having read a considerable amount of novels in his life and witnessed similar phases in many of his friends’ lives, Optimus found himself in uncharted territory with the aftermath of his love confession. 

He hadn’t managed to power down for a klik during the following night, and yet he still wasn’t tired. On the contrary, he felt giddy and light in every limb, and he could hardly manage the urge to dance around the study room every time when he thought about the exchange that had taken place. 

He couldn’t focus on gathering information from the web, and mostly he just lay on his padding and stared at the ceiling, thinking and smiling. 

He had finally managed to say what he felt. He had looked Megatron in the optic and told him that he loved him, just like he had dreamed of doing when he was young. He recalled staying up until early cycles sending messages back and forth even though he had to get up early and go to work, recalled dreaming of walking up to Megatronus and telling him exactly what he felt and proposing a change in their relationship. He had even dreamed of arranging a chance to run away to Kaon to live with him, even though he had recognized it was almost impossible and that he didn’t even know if Megatronus felt the same way about him. The fear of rejection had made him pile up excuses to put off confessing, to convince himself that what they had was not worth risking and that maybe one day he could maybe speak up, but just not yet. 

Now having finally spoken up, Optimus still didn’t know how Megatron felt about him (even if the blatant disbelief in his optics was something to go by), but somehow that didn’t even matter. Optimus offlined his optics and pressed his digits against his spreading smile. He wanted to message Jazz and tell him all about this, and imagining his reactions to the news was amusing. Optimus was certain that Jazz would be proud of him, even though he couldn’t possibly understand the circumstances that had prompted the confession, and he would probably shake his helm and express his worry again. Or he might laugh at them, and laugh even more when he’d hear how stunned Megatron had been. 

He could almost hear Jazz’s wild laughter and imagined how happy he would be while at the same time making faces and then laughing even more at the discomfort of the thought.

_“You’re crazy, Orion! I always knew it! Just knew it! You quiet ones are the worst freaks!”_

Optimus sighed. 

Ratchet would be a whole another thing entirely. Optimus couldn’t even really imagine telling him. He had followed his advice and been honest to himself and honest about his feelings, but he was extremely certain that this was not the outcome Ratchet had wished for. Optimus tried to imagine Ratchet asking him if anything unusual had happened, and himself responding something like “well, now that you asked, I actually finally gathered the courage to confess my deep romantic feelings towards my oldest enemy. You might know him, we’re officially bonded and you hate him.” 

But that was always followed by Ratchet’s “excuse me?” over and over again, and besides his dream-self’s flippant tone sounded more like Jazz than himself. 

But he wanted to tell. He suddenly wanted to tell everyone, and most of all he wanted to tell Megatron again and again until he got a response. Any response. 

He onlined his optics again and stared at the ceiling, finding it still looking exactly the same. He lay a servo on his chassis and wondered how much the secret had weighed on him all this time, because now his spark felt as light as a helium balloon and threatened to float away into high heavens. 

But still he worried some. He didn’t know what would happen now. If there had been any script to these things, his own confession had drastically derailed it right from the start. He knew that despite his bitterness, grudges and wounded pride Megatron respected him, and as of late even held some feelings of friendship towards him. As much as the visit to Kaon had felt like a dream, it was most definitely real. What had transpired there was real, and it meant something. 

Optimus was certain that no one of his friends had ever been a situation quite like this one, and even through his happy haze he felt a small prickle of guilt at feeling like this towards someone like Megatron. Even Jazz didn’t understand, couldn't even fathom it, and even though he gratefully didn't judge him, this left Optimus truly alone. Had any one of his friends ever loved someone even remotely as difficult as Megatron?

Or had any of them had to demand a response to a confession, at least? Had any of them been in a state where they didn’t quite know what they felt, or what the other felt, or had there been instances where they felt something they couldn’t name or something they shouldn’t have? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t imagine he’d ask either. 

What was one even supposed to do after a love confession? Everyone talked about the fear and excitement of confessing, but rarely about what came afterwards. 

Next Optimus picked up one of his favorite novels he had used to read on breaks in the Hall of Records, one of those five-credit things that were published in series with a new volume out every month. He had always liked the pulp romance, the pathos always felt so genuine and with the dramatics it was like candy for your mind, and he flipped quickly through the beginning to his favorite parts. 

Eventually he got to the scene where the hero of the story, a privileged high-class servant to a high-caste Lady from Iacon, confessed his undying love to the lowly gladiator during their secret meeting in the catacombs of Kaon, but he had to put the novel away when the gladiator responded with grasping her would-be-lover and hoisting him up against the wall, and the scene suddenly got very steamy. 

Optimus turned on his side and pressed his flushed faceplate into his pillow. He was getting ahead of himself. He muffled his laughter with the pillow. 

In his giddy state he didn’t feel fatigue and apparently no hunger either, because suddenly it was noon and he had gotten no notification from his system to fuel, yet his fuel-levels were down. He hadn’t stepped out the study since yesterday, and now he was suddenly nervous. He didn’t know what he would do or say, or what Megatron would do or say in the event that they’d cross paths, which was more than likely in their small apartment. 

Optimus wondered what he could do in the small study to make himself appear more presentable, quickly glancing down at himself and turning over his servos, and suddenly he felt ridiculous. He had looked worse and Megatron had seen him at his worst too, and even if he hadn’t, it had been just one night since they last saw each other. 

The realization was calming, and before he had time to get nervous again, Optimus got up from his place and marched to the door, slid it open and walked to the kitchen. 

Megatron was there. He was standing by the counter in the same place as he had been the previous night but without a datapad this time, and the moment Optimus stepped into the kitchen his gaze snapped to him. 

Optimus felt as if a small lighting bolt had dashed through him, but he simply smiled and walked to the cold compartment. He took out a package of energon crystals and on a whim a coolant bottle, set them to the counter and kicked the compartment door closed. The crystal package was already opened, so he just peeled the lid back to measure enough crystals for one full cube into the processor before carefully closing it again, then put it back to the compartment. He put a cube into the processor and flipped the machine on, then popped the cork off the coolant bottle that he planned to sip on while waiting. 

When he turned around again he noticed that Megatron was still staring at him. Optimus leaned his back against the counter and stared back. There was an odd frown on Megatron’s face, a mixture of suspicion and utter confusion. He didn’t speak or gesture in any way, just blatantly stared directly at Optimus as if trying to see through him. 

“Hey,” Optimus said. He got no response, and he quirked an optic ridge at the other, mildly amused. He took a sip of coolant and stared back. “I can see you’re staring. It is rude,” he said. 

Megatron narrowed his optics briefly and crossed his arms. No response. 

Optimus laughed a bit awkwardly at the situation and shook his helm to himself. He opened his intake to speak again, but the first thing that threatened to come out was “I’m sorry”, and that would have been a lie. He bit his glossa for a klik and rephrased: “I… Didn’t mean to spring all that at you yesterday. Not like that. But you kind of told me to, so this rather awkward situation is somewhat your fault too.” He smiled at the other, but got back nothing but the unblinking red stare. 

Optimus huffed another short laugh and took a sip of coolant, then focused on the bottle in his servos, only occasionally glancing at Megatron. He didn’t recall ever seeing an expression like that on his face, and that was quite an accomplishment considering their long history. Optimus tried to find a suitable name or description for the expression, but it was difficult. Megatron’s expression was guarded and stern, but it wasn’t blank. It was wide-eyed and alert, but it wasn’t upset or bewildered or really even surprised, and it lacked the blaze of his rage in battle. It might have been confused but also calculating, but at the same time oddly lost too. 

Optimus felt a tiny bit sorry for the other and quirked a smile. “Have you even moved from that spot?” he asked.

Megatron snorted. “Of course I have. I recharged and showered,” he replied, then went right back to staring. 

“Well… that’s good,” Optimus said, just to say something. He sipped at the coolant again, then threw a glance at the energon processor to see how long he’d still have to wait. The cube was only half full, and so with a sigh he turned back to Megatron again. This was definitely nothing like how he had imagined his love confession would go. 

“I really did mean what I said,” Optimus said. 

“So you said last night too,” Megatron replied slowly, optics narrowed. “You are like a broken record.” 

Optimus sighed. “That is because you’re not giving me an answer of any kind. I’m afraid you’re not taking me seriously.” 

To that Megatron didn’t reply anything, but his stare hardened and he leaned back just a bit as if he could see something more or new from a slightly different angle. The expression on his face was still as unreadable as it had been before. 

Optimus stared back and tried to look as honest as he could. “I truly, really need you to believe me. You have to understand… It was really hard to tell you, so could you be so kind and maybe… think about this? And then maybe say _something_?”

Once again Megatron responded with silence, and Optimus let out a frustrated sigh, setting the coolant bottle on the counter.

“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” Optimus asked.

“No, _you’re_ being difficult,” Megatron responded. 

Optimus gave him a sharp look, then rolled his optics. This was going nowhere. He thought about the love interest of the hero of his favorite novel and wished that all gladiators would indeed be so forward with their emotions. Luckily the energon processor made a beeping sound to signal a ready meal, and Optimus turned to get his cube. He picked up the almost empty coolant bottle with his free servo and turned to go back to the study, and gave Megatron one last look.

“Tell me when you are ready to talk to me like you did in Kaon,” he said and walked out. He felt Megatron’s gaze on his back and wondered for probably the millionth time in his life what exactly was wrong with his own spark.


	33. Worry me this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been some time again, but sometimes a chronic illness kicks your ass and that's life. But today I'm so excited to bring you a new chapter, a plot chapter no less! Let's all get back on his hellride and see what's going on on Cybertron. I bet you all missed Ultra Magnus. B)
> 
> Also I've been so happy to see some notes on my fics on Tumblr, and all your kudos and comments here on Ao3 are very much appreciated. Thank you all.
> 
> And a shout-out to my beta-reader and roommate zinteyro. Once again he's proven himself to be a great beta and a man of his word as we are on (our) schedule, and also he did the dishes yesterday after our D&D party left our place. You can't find him on Tumblr but he's reading all your comments.

During the countless stellar cycles of war Ultra Magnus had learned many things about the world, life, and himself, but one of the most surprising things was that apparently he was considered reliable. Somehow he seemed to project a certain field to other bots that told them that they could trust him not only with classified information but also personal secrets. This was very curious, since Ultra Magnus had never considered himself a very outgoing or social bot, but still he seemed to posses some qualities that made others trust him to be sensitive, truthful and nonjudgmental. None of them ever assumed him to be less strict or professional, but all these qualities seemed to coexist in the impression he left on others. 

He didn't complain about it or consider it a burden, quite the contrary. He valued his dedication to whatever the task at hand happened to be, and when bots sought his opinion and advice he gave it, but from time to time it still managed to surprise him.

That he was also today, when Override caught him when he was leaving work. It wasn't completely unheard of for a member of the Guard to happen by any governing institution, but the law department was still a rare occasion, as was the way Override joined Ultra Magnus' company without a request. He didn't mind as they were technically in a public space in a large office building and he considered Override a safe ally during these trying times, but there was a worried air around her and a certain urgency in the way she just joined him that made him wary of her business. 

“Good day, Captain,” Ultra Magnus said, returning the greeting although Override had already stepped to his side and was walking with him. “What gives me the honor?” 

Override was small compared to Ultra Magnus and mostly out of his sight, but he could still feel the nervous ripple in her EM field that gave him an impression of a nervously glancing bot.

“Just... Everyday working business, I suppose,” Override replied. “Some news, and thoughts upon said news.”

“Those are always welcome,” Ultra Magnus replied. “Information is valuable, even or maybe especially when we're not sure if we like it.”

Override hummed in response. “Oh, I know. I served in the war too, as I'm sure you recall. I've just had the time to hope that the news wouldn't involve things blowing up anymore.”

Ultra Magnus could sympathize. “I see.” 

They made their way slowly down the corridor. There was an elevator lobby but they passed it in favor of a walkway to a balcony joining a walkway bridge across the multi-lane roads below, leading to a tower of ramps and traffic circles connecting traffic from several districts. 

The open air and noise gave them privacy, and Override seemed to relax a bit. “A bot serving in the Guard has to make many important decisions. We have to consider our stance both in public and in private, and we can never fully know the consequences of our actions before we take them.”

“I know,” Ultra Magnus replied. “It is an important job, and very sensitive.” 

Override's EM field rippled, nervous again, but also tugged closer to her. “We also hear all sorts of things, and sometimes they make us worry.”

“Certainly. That is understandable for anyone in a position close to such powerful institutions and bots.” 

Override seemed to hesitate for a klik. “You know, they used to say that the members of the Guard are the most loyal bots there are. When we take vows, we swear them seriously, and I have vowed my spark to this service. I should be absolutely loyal.” 

“I have heard that being said of many positions. Ideals make us reach for a higher standard, but they are not the practice themselves.” He paused to consider the reasons the femme might have for telling him this, and settled on accepting it as a query for trust. “I can assure you, whatever you are about to tell me is confidential, Captain. I trust your judgment.” 

Override let out a puff of air in relief, but still didn't speak right away. They were slowly making their way across the shining metal walking bridge, and she seemed to linger to admire the beauty of its architecture, the railings woven out of chrome and bronze. Wind was blowing hard today, whistling in the pipes below. 

“There has been no progress in either the murder case of the Council Member Starlight, nor the attempted bombing,” she said. “It's getting rather tense, I'd say. Unanswered questions create frustration and discord, and the council members are starting to quarrel among themselves.” 

Ultra Magnus considered this. “Isn't that simply the way politics are? What's causing you to worry about this?” 

Override shifted anxiously. “Council Member Ratbat is at odds with Council Member Actinide. He is certain that this is all committed by a cell of former Decepticons and that having a former Decepticon on the Council is sending a supportive message.” 

Ultra Magnus considered this. He wasn't that surprised, from what he had gathered from the news the current seated Council harbored some big personalities. He did think highly of how different regions were represented and how even one member of Decepticon background had been elected, but he also thought that Ratbat's concern was probably misplaced since Actinide's background as a dedicated servant of Primus had probably helped her more than any shield she used to wear. 

“He might not be entirely wrong,” Ultra Magnus said out loud. “You can never fully know what motivates an extremist. Maybe they see her like that, maybe they don't. Maybe she is nothing more than an Autobot collaborator to them.”

Override shrugged. “Perhaps. But the reality is that we don't know who's behind this. I hear that the police department is under pressure to produce results – any results. And it's partially personal. Council Member Starlight was on friendly terms with Actinide and Arc Flame herself. Grief... It's an unpredictable motivator.” 

“That it indeed is,” Ultra Magnus said, thoughtful. “But I must say that restlessness over these matters doesn't surprise me, and I have a hard time believing they would surprise you either.”

This time Override actually laughed. It was a small, polite sound, but there nonetheless. “Ah, you see through me. Thank you for recognizing my professional accomplishments while you call me out,” she said. “Hmm. Yes. The thing is, the question with the Prime and... Megatron is not as dealt with as the Council would have liked it to be after the sentencing.” 

Override kept a small pause before speaking Megatron's designation, perhaps out of awkward lingering fear or just not knowing how to address him. Truth be told, neither did Ultra Magnus half the time anymore. The mech in question had had many titles and many insults and simply calling him the enemy leader had been his way out for a long time, but now... Primal spouse? Never. 

“I think the argument between Ratbat and Actinide isn't really about the public safety or whatever the else they like to call it, it's about the Prime and Megatron. The _Autobot_ Prime and the _Decepticon_ Lord, in other words, if you will,” Override said, leaning a bit closer and lowering her voice even though eavesdropping to them would have been impossible. “You see, they are about to undo the restrictions on the visitations to that private little prison of theirs, and it's not out of mercy or whatever they commented on that when asked. No, it was negotiated for them by Optimus Prime in return for his and Megatron's speeches after the attack. And Actinide took their side in the negotiations.” 

This was news to Ultra Magnus. “Indeed?” He brushed off the notion that Optimus had held the public safety in jeopardy like that and focused instead to consider the wedge negotiations like that might have driven between the council members. “That is interesting... Though it is hard to know which Ratbat hates more: losing, or giving anything to those he views as nothing more than lawless rebels.” 

Override made a worried noise, but seemed to agree. “Yes. Come to think of it, it is quite extraordinary how equally his resentment lies with both of them. He doesn't know who to blame, but keeps reminding us of our vows to the law and order and to the Council, not to a Prime or a self-proclaimed Lord of anything. Especially the police departments have been hearing that particular verse as of late.”

There was yet another anxious ripple in Override's EM field, and Ultra Magnus thought of her words carefully. “Do you think that he thinks there are traitors in your midst? That it is because of them that the murderer hasn't been found yet?” he asked. 

Another anxious ripple, stronger this time. Override was quiet for a moment and shifted more than usual. “You know, in my vows I did swear absolute loyalty,” she said. “And in theory the Council I serve could ask anything of me. On their order, I would have to lay down my spark, my property, my designation and any titles I might have. Even.... Even my conjunx.”

This gave Ultra Magnus a pause. He didn't know what to think of a Blue-Flamer, let alone a Blue-Flamer bonded with an Autobot Captain, and he elected to hold his opinion on the matter. There were more obvious ones to consider: “That's not true anymore,” he said. “Maybe during the rule before the War for Cybertron the Guard was indeed that absolute, but that's not the case anymore. No one can tell you to renounce all you have, let alone your conjunx.” 

“Maybe so...” Override said, “but I have a feeling that that particular memo didn't reach everyone in high places.” 

She was of course right, and even though Ultra Magnus knew he was correct about the current state of laws too, Override's worries stayed with him when they parted ways. He was serving his sentence by salvaging their laws and regulations from the remains of databases and sending them forward to be compared and matched with the databases recovered from the Red Star and the systems of other vessels, and doing that it was easy to forget that things weren't as simple as clear text on a screen. Life was much more complex than that, and the war that was just barely behind them was frightening proof that if someone pushed hard enough, the text on a screen stopped mattering.   
Luckily he didn't have time to ponder on all of this alone for too long since he had a previously scheduled meeting ahead. He transformed and joined the flow of traffic, blending in with his new altmode of a Cybertronian transportation vehicle. An update to the old one, a transformation. Somehow it had felt strange to let go of the form he had had before the war even though the time had passed and the form in his databank was only a relic. 

Ratchet was already expecting him in his apartment where he opened the door almost immediately after Ultra Magnus rang the bell. 

“Yes, come in,” Ratchet said, skipping greetings and just walking inside, leaving Ultra Magnus to close the door behind himself.

“You seem well, doctor,” Ultra Magnus said, following the other to the living room. Usually they met there with the whole team, and now with just the two of them the room seemed a lot bigger. 

Ultra Magnus took a seat on the couch, and Ratchet thrust a small cube of high-grade into his servo before taking a seat in a chair opposite of him. 

“I got a message from Optimus,” Ratchet said. “He said he has no idea who the bomber is or what they want, but that he doesn't believe Megatron has anything to do with it.” 

Ultra Magnus nodded. “I trust his instinct. It would be too easy to say that Megatron was the guilty party.”

Ratchet snorted. “Don't you think we're letting him off the hook a bit too easily? He has a history of this behavior. He has both the motive and the means!” 

“I'm not saying I want to exclude him from our list of suspects,” Ultra Magnus replied. “But we must broaden our view. We're not at war anymore, and those clear lines have been undone. We are trying to apply logic to chaos. We shouldn't be too hasty.” 

Ratchet hummed, reluctantly agreeing. “You are right, of course,” he said. “But I'm... I'm worried about Optimus. I know him like no one else – well, maybe Jazz does, too... But Megatron has been a difficult opponent from the very beginning. I fear he's... Overlooking some things.”

“I'm aware what you're referring to. I was at the trial as well, I heard the testimonies,” Ultra Magnus said.

“But you weren't _there_!”

“Neither were you,” Ultra Magnus cut in. Ratchet pressed his lipplates into a harsh line. Ultra Magnus raised his optic ridges at him. 

“We weren't there in the start, but we were there for the million stellar cycles after that, and if you ask me, Prime's several deeds and actions during the war weigh more than some foolish mistakes he made in his youth,” Ultra Magnus explained.

Ratchet's shoulders slumped down and he sighed. “I agree,” he admitted. “But I'm still worried, you can't blame me for that! He's my oldest friend. And in our messages I have reminded multiple times that Megatron uses his secured network link too, and that we have no idea who he's contacting. And that we also know that there are many loyal followers of his here.” 

“That is true, but they don't need his permission to act,” Ultra Magnus said. He took a sip of the high-grade in order to buy himself a natural pause. “I just got a reminder of what kind of bots are allowed to roam free.” 

Ratchet looked at him with curious optics, wordlessly urging him to continue. He hadn't even touched his own drink, just turned it in his servos like a socially acceptable fidget toy. 

“Captain Override sought me out when I left work today,” Ultra Magnus began. “She had some interesting information to share about the internal tensions of the Council, and she also left me something to think about.”

“The Council?” Ratchet said, his optic ridges flying up. “What about them?”

“Apparently Ratbat feels like his position is challenged, and opinions on handling Optimus and Megatron are dividing them. He feels that Actinide is challenging him by taking Megatron's side, and questions about war criminal sympathies have been raised,” Ultra Magnus summed up. “Apparently Optimus strong-armed them into freeing the visitation schedule, and Actinide and Arc Flame gave in when Ratbat argued against it.” 

Ratchet's expression turned into a frown once again, and he looked thoughtful. “That... doesn't sound like Optimus,” he said at first but shook that subject quickly to move on. “Well, Ratbat's attitude is no surprise. But there are other voices in the Council, seven members and the late Starlight's seat open, he can't cripple the governing system alone.” 

“That's what I thought,” Ultra Magnus said, “but Override brought up things from his thinking that I found interesting. Apparently the police department is being pressured by at least Ratbat to solve Starlight's murder, and because of null results rumors about sabotage have begun to spread. And not that it has anything to do with a murder happening in Iacon, but Override is bonded to the helm of the police department of Kaon.” 

Ratchet's frown deepened even more. “So... What are you saying?” 

“Well, nothing much, Override seemed to be mostly worried that someone on the Council would use her Guard vows to pressure her in leaving her bondmate, or maybe a council member using her vows as a tool against her conjunx, but it did remind me that bots like Stormsplitter the Welder are working as helms of police departments now,” Ultra Magnus explained. “I don't think sentencing just a short line of officers and symbolically executing the leaders did that much in the end.” 

Ratchet listened to him in solemn silence but didn't look surprised, and as Ultra Magnus spoke it occurred to him that Ratchet might have thought about all of this already. The doctor was a worrier by nature, and that meant he was rarely taken by surprise even by the grimmest of realities. It was impressive in its own way, but Ultra Magnus found himself also grateful that he hadn't experienced the war from a doctor's perspective. 

Ratchet sighed. “Oh, I hear you. On one hand younglings like our Bumblebee and Smokescreen can be free, but then again we have to think about bots like Override's conjunx in our midst.”

“Well... Override seems to genuinely trust Stormsplitter, even though their union was arranged,” Ultra Magnus pointed out.

“Of course she does. We can't ask her to be objective about someone she cares that much about. That would be... Unreasonable. We don't command our own sparks, especially if we make... that choice,” Ratchet said, his voice fading into a mutter as he awkwardly implied the true emotions and a genuine sparkbond. 

He reset his vocalizer. “Well, this still means we don't know much,” he continued, changing the subject. “I hope we learn something new soon. And we're going to see Optimus more in the future. Arc Flame has issued a press release that the Council wants to be kind and merciful towards everyone who wants to re-enter the society, and thus we hardened war criminals may see our imprisoned friend now.” He laughed a bit at the wording that Ultra Magnus recognized as a quote from the news and joined him on the laugh. 

“That is good for us, but I can't imagine Megatron's officers are going to line up to visit him. I wonder if they have considered that this wording might rise accusations of favoritism,” Ultra Magnus thought out loud.

“As if anyone cares about officially dead old warriors,” Ratchet snorted and downed his high-grade in one gulp. “I don't think anyone cares to think about monsters as long as they stay locked up.”

There was only so much news to go over but they tried to stretch it out, maybe in hopes of learning something more even though in the back of their minds they knew this was all. Eventually they wrapped it up and Ratchet typed their conclusions to a message to Optimus, and that was it. It was hard for a long-time military officer to accept such limited resources and weak intelligence gathering methods, but that was what the current situation was and there was no helping it.

Still Ultra Magnus felt some sort of accomplishment when he left the doctor's apartment. Override's insight had been interesting and a welcome change to news sources and vague gossip. When they had successfully established a secure and private line of messaging with Optimus they had all felt like they had pulled off something meaningful and great, but nothing truly significant had yet come out of it. Sure, they were able to exchange information and keep in touch, but it was nothing dramatic. Often it felt like Optimus knew even less than they did, and Prime was very tight-lipped about his handling of Megatron, as always. 

To Ultra Magnus this state of business was nothing to really fuss over as he was used to gathering intelligence and carefully planning the moves for his team, but he could practically feel the restlessness from the others. Especially Smokescreen and Bumblebee were uncomfortable in their mundane job and the state of uncertainty, and as calmly as Arcee looked after them there were some cracks in her facade as well. 

Ultra Magnus was driving down a ramp from the highway to the two-lane streets of the city floor when his system pinged. It seemed that the surprises for today weren't quite over yet as he regarded the incoming transmission. 

Out of all the bots who might want to reach him this late in the evening, it was Wheeljack. Ultra Magnus hadn't heard a peep from him in moon cycles, and he was slightly confused when he accepted the call. 

“Yes?” he answered.

There was a long moment of silence. Ultra Magnus waited. 

Then there was a suffering invent of air, and a tired, familiar voice spoke: “Hey, Magnus,” Wheeljack said, attempting at a tired cheer and failing. 

“Hello, Wheeljack. It's been some time,” Ultra Magnus replied and left it that, giving the other space.

The line was quiet, but Wheeljack's hesitation was still clear. 

“I'm... I was wondering if you had time to meet?” he eventually managed to say. 

“Oh?” Ultra Magnus said with interest. He had planned to go home and quiet down for the solar, but this out of the blue invitation felt important. “Certainly. Where are you?” 

It took a moment, a complete turn around a block and drive up a ramp onto an inter-district road. Wheeljack wasn't that far away, but he was in another district and the evening traffic had started to form, so it took a bit longer to drive there than it would have during a different cycle. 

The appointed place was outside the central districts where buildings were lower and cheaper, just outside the crescent-shaped suburban area. The district was barely recognizable as a part of Iacon with none of the blue and white lights, polished steel or glass, but bots populating it had made an effort, at least with the veneers of the buildings. Businesses had maybe just one large window and some concrete wall to work with, but they had utilized paint, calligraphy, posters and signs in an attempt to live up to the expectations of the capital. 

Ultra Magnus changed from the driving lane to the sidewalk and circled a few blocks in search of his former subordinate, and finally spotted Wheeljack waiting for him under a metal sign lit with blinking neon pink lights, at the entrance of a bar. He was lingering there, shifting restlessly and glancing around him, and when he finally spotted Ultra Magnus and they locked optics he jumped a bit, almost into attention. 

“Wheeljack. It has been some time,” Ultra Magnus said when he walked up to the younger mech. “I assume you have some business with me.” 

“Uh... Yeah, I suppose you could say that,” Wheeljack hesitantly answered. His spinal strut was rigidly straight maybe out of an old habit in front of a superior officer, but on top of that he seemed somewhat uncomfortable. Ultra Magnus couldn't quite put a digit on the vibe he was giving out, but deduced that the nature of business was serious. 

“That's what I'm here for,” Ultra Magnus said, attempting to cut straight to the point. 

“Uh... Yeah. I was... Let's get inside so that we can talk,” Wheeljack fumbled to say, gesturing at the bar they were standing in front of. 

Ultra Magnus lifted his gaze over Wheeljack's helm to glance inside the establishment. There was a good number of customers but it looked relatively calm despite them, busy enough to offer a good guise for them but not too busy to be impossible to find privacy. It was a good choice. 

“Certainly. Shall we then?” he said, gestured Wheeljack to go ahead of him, and together they stepped in. 

Wheeljack ordered them drinks of mild high-grade, and they took a small table a good distance away from the bar where they sat down. 

Despite having invited him, Wheeljack seemed to be unwilling to speak. Ultra Magnus studied the mech before him. He kept avoiding looking at him, keeping his gaze either fixed on the table or his drink, or flickering around the bar as if fearing that someone cared enough to eavesdrop. 

Ultra Magnus wondered what this was about, it had to be something serious and probably personal judging by the way Wheeljack was barely controlling the squirming in his seat and not looking straight at him. Otherwise the mech looked a bit scuffed too, like he hadn't really taken care of himself properly as of late. It might have been the hard labor, but somehow he looked like he had been very tired for a while now. 

“I... Uh. Called you on a whim,” Wheeljack confessed. “I think I wanted to talk to someone, and... Well, you came to mind. A bit unusual, but heh, I didn't know who else to call.” There was a nervous, nearly manic smile on his face, and his gaze managed to stay on the older mech for a fracture of a klik before dropping to his glass again.

“If you want to tell me something, I'm all receptors. You may talk freely,” Ultra Magnus gently pushed him. He took a careful taste of his drink deeming it mediocre yet acceptable, and waited for Wheeljack to gather his courage. 

“You know... The truth is...” Wheeljack reluctantly started while staring into his high-grade, “I don't even know why I called you.”

Ultra Magnus made a thoughtful noise and set his servos on the table, lacing his digits. “Why you called anyone at all, or why me specifically?” 

“Ugh... Both, I think,” Wheeljack admitted with a shrug. His helm hung in an almost ashamed way, but still he tried to make light of the situation. “Perhaps it's just the soldier's routine, huh? Gotta report to the commanding officer.” 

Ultra Magnus allowed the joke, nodding patiently. “Then by all means, report away.” 

Wheeljack glanced at him again, for a klik longer this time. He seemed to slump down a bit and his servo rose to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah... Uh... You know, to be honest... My life hasn't been going too well lately.” 

“Times are hard. That's perfectly reasonable,” Ultra Magnus commented. He didn't know how his tone came across, but Wheeljack's lipplates twitched into a genuine smile for a moment. 

“Yeah... Yeah, maybe it is,” he said, digits rubbing against the back of his helm. “But still... That doesn't change what everyone expects of me.”

“And what does everyone expect of you?” 

Wheeljack slumped in his chair, then suddenly picked up his cube and emptied half of it in one go. “Falling in line. To accept this, and to turn out okay despite everything.” He slammed the cube down. “Can I... Could I be perfectly honest for a klik here, Commander?” 

Ultra Magnus regarded the other for a moment. He wasn't sure if Wheeljack had used his former rank intentionally or did it slip out out of pure habit, but it did make him think. Wheeljack was a curious mix of dead tired and standoffish, trying to break out of the system while seeking comfort from the old one. “Well I certainly hope I didn't drive here to hear lies.”

Wheeljack shook with a mute laugh for a klik, then took a shaky invent of air. “Everything in my life has gone straight to the Pit lately.” 

Ultra Magnus regarded him and said nothing.

Wheeljack huffed. “Just... just straight to the Pit, all of it, in one really sharp and smooth slope. I don't have an apartment anymore, I haven't been to work in a moon cycle and I'm pretty sure cops will be looking for me soon... I've been sleeping with a damn ex-Con for weeks by now, for Primus' sake!” He spat it all out in one rushed flood of speech, optics glued to the tabletop and his servos squeezing the half-full cube. 

Ultra Magnus listened and still said nothing. It was a rush of words and several points, but nothing too horrible. Wheeljack was clearly guilty and agitated over it all, but all of Ultra Magnus' worst case scenarios went unchecked: no one had died, no one was hurt, nothing valuable had been lost. Nothing that couldn't be fixed or replaced hadn't been destroyed. 

“I see. And have you tried to contact Downshift on this matter and have this all sorted out?” he asked.

Wheeljack threw him an odd look. “No! No, I... uh, I haven't been in contact with anyone. I've just... recharged mostly.” 

Ultra Magnus nodded. “Are you currently living with this bot you mentioned?” 

Wheeljack squirmed on his place and nervously suckled on his lower lipplate. “Yeah. Yeah, I've been bunking with him for a while now. It's... Complicated.” 

“I'm sure it is, and I won't pry into it,” Ultra Magnus assured him. “I think you should contact Downshift, preferably before the police indeed come to look for you. I believe this could all be sorted out.” 

Wheeljack gave him a long, somewhat desperate look. “Yeah?” He didn't sound too convinced. 

“I'm certain. It would be preferable for everyone if this thing was solved. It's the uncertainty that's the worst option for all.” 

“Uh-huh, “ Wheeljack muttered. He looked lost, like the conversation was full of completely new information that he hadn't even considered. He seemed to be trapped inside his own helm. He reset his vocalizer and licked his lipplates. “So... About me and that Decepticon... You don't care about that?” 

Ultra Magnus had expected that. He shrugged and took a sip of high-grade. “Your personal business is no business of mine, as long as you and him are in this willingly. Whether this thing you have is good for you or bad for you, only you alone can know.” 

“Yeah, I suppose,” Wheeljack muttered, and clearly didn't know the answer to the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's our chapter today. Thank you so much for reading! If you want to let out some thoughts and feelings, please do so in the comment section, or maybe visit me on [tumblr](http://zombieheroine.tumblr.com/). I love to hear from you, so don't be shy.


	34. Connection lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's once again time for an update! Thank you for all of your kudos and comments. This story crossed the halfway mark towards 900 kudos and I'm so happy so many have read and liked this! Also, big thanks for [Soursoppi](https://soursoppi.tumblr.com/) who made a funny art for the previous chapter on Tumblr, and thanks for all those who reblogged it. The notes were staggering!
> 
> This time we are diving straight into it. I managed to salvage my shower thoughts for this chapter, and thus all is well. I also got to write a scene I have had in my notes for over a year, so as a writer I'm very content. Please enjoy!
> 
> Shout out to my beta zinteyro who emailed this chapter during his Easter break!

The news were on in the morning as usual when Starscream came out of the wash-rack for breakfast. He still felt like a stranger is his own apartment due to their last misstep and how distant Knockout had become after Starscream had clumsily attempted to talk about it, but their coexistence continued none the less. It wasn't like Starscream knew nothing of frosty silences and spaces too cramped to avoid someone, so he got by, and if he was really honest about it, he was genuinely grateful to have at least this much. 

He made his way to the kitchen, opened a small cube of condensed energon and lingered there, sipping his breakfast. 

Knockout was sitting by the counter with a cube of his own, paying little mind to his roommate. He was leaning on the countertop, where a computer was on and streaming this morning's news broadcast. Starscream listened in with little interest, the topic had already shifted from the headlines to less urgent ones like economics. 

“ - most rebuilding programs across the world have managed to stay in schedule, and we are soon looking at a new university campus in Vos. Construction of the main building has been recently completed, and it's estimated that the university will start accepting staff and students within next three stellar cycles,” reported a pleasantly neutral voice over the broadcast. 

Knockout shifted on his seat and threw a glance over his shoulder at Starscream. He had a polite smile on his faceplate. “You must be happy to hear that,” he said. 

Starscream shrugged. “I suppose so.” He didn't know what else to say. The topic was awfully awkward, nothing like Knockout's usual picks. 

“You might get to move back in Vos eventually,” Knockout continued. “Places like that mean upturn for the region.”

“And I'm glad my city thrives, whether or not I live there,” Starscream replied. 

The report continued still: “Some regions however have fallen behind the schedule. Especially Kaon and former Blaster City have struggled with demolishing and cleaning up dangerous ruins from their cityscapes, and the expedition sent to the Moon Base has managed to get the remains of the ancient space port under control only recently. The efforts to demolish and recycle – “

“I used to dream of that space port, you know,” Starscream sighed. “It's sad that it's being demolished instead of restored.” 

Knockout turned properly around on his seat to give him a measuring look. “I'm sure it will be, eventually,” he said. “But not now. Actinide was interviewed for the Echo about the decision just yesterday, and she said that our vulnerable world shouldn't reach for the stars again until we are strong again. And it's not like we have the tech or the resources now. Just look at Kaon.”

Starscream scoffed and rubbed his forehelm. “Kaonians... It almost sounds like they don't even want to clean up. Knowing them it's probably true.”

Knockout took a sip of energon before he commented: “What makes you say that?” 

“They have always loved their ruins and memorials,” Starscream said. “And if there's one region on this world that wants to remember the war the most, it's Kaon. Besides, what I know about the local culture no amount of rubble or garbage is really a bother as long as it's piled next to the road and not on it.”

Knockout's lipplates quirked in almost a smile. “Practicality first, I suppose. But speaking of war-loving Kaonians, you missed the best piece of news while you showered.”

The lead-up to that was already enough to make Starscream make a sour face and he knew he couldn't care less, but still he asked: “What now?”

Knockout set his cube on the counter and crossed his servos in his lap, suddenly business-like. “The reporter could barely contain their excitement while informing that the 'honoured Primal bond', as they are referred to nowadays, is making another appearance in public today.” 

Starscream felt his expression twisting almost painfully, and he couldn't resist the urge to roll his optics. “So Megatron is allowed in the midst of the regular people so that the crowd can once again deem him real,” he concluded, spreading his arms. “Why would I care? I'm not going to go see him.”

Knockout lifted a single digit. “Ah, but that's not the point! You might not, but others will.” 

Starscream was unimpressed. “I've spent enough time around his fanatics and militant fans, thank you very much. Maybe someone sensible will throw something at him, and while I admit that it would be amusing, I'll rather read about it from the paper tomorrow.” 

Knockout's optic ridges quirked slightly but he managed to leave it at that. “I'm not talking about just anyone, you know. Soundwave will go meet him.”

Starscream remained unimpressed. “I still don't care. Soundwave can do whatever he likes. I haven't been in contact with him since I surrendered our cause. He might be your secretary, but that has nothing to do with me. Take care of your own business.” The last part came out sharper than he had meant, almost a snap, and not a kind addition to his already irritated cold tone he used whenever Megatron came up. But even if it did insult or hurt Knockout, the medic showed nothing on his face, and somehow his cool indifference hurt Starscream back. 

“I will take care of my own business,” Knockout assured him, “when have I not? I just thought I'd give you information. You like to know things, don't you? Don't you want to know as much as possible of what Megatron is up to?”

Starscream bit his lipplate. “Not really, to be honest,” he replied after a moment. “He's always up to something, and I've been telling you from the beginning that letting him live was a stupid thing from the Court to do. He's Prime's trouble now. I don't want any part in it.” 

Knockout pursed his lipplates and seemed to think it over. His professional posture stayed, as did the indifferent attitude towards the seeker. “Do you really think Prime can deal with Megatron and whatever he's doing?” 

Starscream scoffed, dropped his gaze and felt a bitter taste rise in his intake. He recognized it as envy, but forced it down and refused to think about it further. “Do you think there's any other to deal with him? I personally would prefer if they had killed each other, then we could be rid of both.” 

Knockout raised his optic ridges at him and glanced him over, perhaps trying to read into his words and tone. Starscream didn't care. 

“I will go out today,” Knockout declared. “It's not to see Megatron or the Prime, I too have had enough of them for now so other curious sparks might as well get their turn... But I'll meet with Soundwave. He still knows things, you know. And he still has a Decepticon's back.” 

Starscream gave him a doubtful look. “You don't even have your shield anymore.”

“It's not about the shield,” Knockout said. He took his cube, downed the rest of it quickly and set it aside. He got up from his place and turned the computer off. “Our past hasn't suddenly disappeared, after all.” 

Starscream gave an exasperated sigh. “Don't I know that.” 

*

It was a tense morning in Optimus and Megatron's apartment. 

A very stressed and rigid Override had showed up during early morning cycles with the familiar messaging system with her, and she had presented them with an official order directly from the Council that obligated one of their public appearances to take place today. 

“It's already official. News outlets have been notified,” Override explained when she was let in. She left the guards who had escorted her out and carried the system and the datapad with her alone. 

They settled in the living-room, Override, Optimus and Megatron. Megatron had been visibly displeased by the surprise guest, now even more so when he had learned she was here delivering orders to them. He lounged on the couch with one leg over his knee and his arms spread over the backrest, following the situation with a cold, calculating gaze.

Optimus chose to stay standing by the opposite wall, and while he too was disgruntled at the suddenness of the affair, he was far more interested in the reasons and the future than in his own comfort. 

Both mechs stayed quiet while Override set up the equipment on their living-room table. “I myself was briefed only three cycles ago. The matter is not urgent per se, but it is meant to be spontaneous as a security measure.” 

“Please, elaborate,” Optimus requested, crossing his arms. 

Override threw him a glance that struggled to remain polite and professional. She was obviously stressed and did her absolute best to hide it and be as courteous as possible, but today her attempts were falling flat. She was tense and on edge. 

“The Council ruled late yesterday evening that now would be a perfect time for another public appearance, this time in Iacon,” she began. “This is a counter measure against the assumed political tension, a show of strength and stability, as you can read for yourself from the official order – it's on my pad.” 

Megatron stirred from his place and reached for the pad that lay on the low table, picked it and started reading it with narrowed optics.

Override was still talking, and Optimus focused on her again.

“ – thus it was decided that considering how your visit to Kaon sparked such anger and protesting and even one attempted bomb attack, this time you will make a public appearance in Iacon. The suddenness of this is both a security measure against possible interference and an assurance of peace and order that allows bots like yourselves make such appearances.” 

Optimus focused intensely on every word that Override let out, turned them around and tried to piece together a better picture of what had happened. He felt a bit bad for thinking so, but Override's evident stress and fatigue was playing in their favor: if there was an occasion a loyal member of the Guard could slip out something she shouldn't, this was it. 

Megatron let out a dark chuckle on his place, and Optimus turned to look at him. “We are to demonstrate 'peaceful, orderly behavior that shall encourage bots from all sides to work together during this hard times'. I can hear Ratbat's voice in my mind, babbling this scrap.” 

“The Council makes their decisions together, and your orders are written at the communication department based on the records from the Council's sessions,” Override interjected while she worked. She was so focused on her work that she missed the cold glare of disdain Megatron flashed in her direction. 

“I don't care how unified or stable they want us to appear,” Megatron growled, “it's all just a show, and they know it.”

“Yes, it is,” Override agreed, her voice tense, “but what else is there to do? The world has to go on, we must work past this, and this is what was decided.” 

Megatron's upper lipplate drew back in a snare. “What else is there,” he repeated with cold mockery. “There's real work to do! Real problems to solve! Real crimes to solve and at least one very real bomber out there! And I certainly hope that your _honoured_ High Council is planning to do something about those too and not just parade us around.” 

Override stared him down for a moment, but didn't say anything more. The system was set up. 

“You will receive further guidelines and requests from the Council Members Nova, Avalon and Hoist. Optimus, if you'd please come here, I'll patch you through,” Override instructed, and Optimus had to give up his observing place and join the situation. 

The call was considerably shorter one than the previous conference they had held at the apartment. It was mostly due to the fact that this time there was nothing to argue, no stakes to place or that many questions to ask, and without Ratbat on the call the whole ordeal remained civil throughout.

But Optimus didn't want to credit the other side too much either nor congratulate himself, because through the whole thing Megatron was suspiciously quiet by his side, speaking only to acknowledge when he was spoken to or to agree with something. This kind of solemn silence was ominous, especially when Optimus could practically feel the other bristling by his side. Megatron might have appeared simply displeased and distant, but under that he was furious. 

When the conference call disconnected and the holograms disappeared, the very first thing that came from Megatron's intake was: “I'm not doing this.” 

Override seemed to have enough energy to look slightly surprised at that. “Apologies, but you're not doing, what exactly?” she asked.

Megatron tilted his chin back and gave her a steely look. “This ridiculous stunt. Not this time. I was made to believe that we had to simply make these appearances but that we could still make decisions about them. I will not submit to another disgraceful display like the bonding ceremony was.” 

Optimus took a deep invent of air and only barely kept himself from sighing. He had feared something like this, and he had fought enough battles to know that a reckless move in an unknown situation like this was a bad decision, but that was what Megatron was known for.

Override looked even more rigid and uncomfortable as she tried to piece together a reply. “This is an official order directly from the Council. Under the lawful sentence passed by the Court, you are obligated to follow it,” she eventually said. 

Megatron raised an optic ridge at her. “I will not do this.” 

Override threw a look to Optimus, who hurried to return it reassuringly. “This would be all, Captain,” he said. “You may leave now. We'll deal with this from here on.” 

Override packed up and left the apartment in such a hurry that Optimus felt bad for her. He doubted the early morning was the only thing that had put her on edge. 

As soon as the door closed behind her, Optimus spun around and strode back to Megatron who was still sitting at the same spot on the couch. 

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” Optimus demanded.

Megatron raised his optic ridges at him, the cold loathing was still there. “I'm not being difficult, you are being too accommodating.” 

Optimus sighed. He put his servos on his hips and gathered his patience and wits for a moment. The solar had barely begun and it was already too much for him, and he didn't know enough to make a proper evaluation of the situation. “It is just a public appearance. We have done those already, remember? Why do you choose to be like this now?” 

Megatron snarled. “You are too accommodating,” he said again. “We just argued the visitation schedule to be freed, and now they are yanking our leashes again? I won't stand it. I won't be humiliated like this.”

“You are taking this too personally,” Optimus noted dryly. “If this is indeed only about our visitation schedule we should be glad! If there's absolutely nothing else to this stunt then it's a small trouble. We just go out and that's it. The order doesn't even say where or for how long.” 

Optimus thought he was being reasonable, but with every word and every point he made Megatron's expression grew sourer and his disdain became more and more open, and now it was directed at him. 

Megatron shook his helm slowly. “With every step we take forward we take another back immediately. And I suppose you're just fine with that.”

Optimus rolled his optics. It was too early to be this angry. “I am not 'fine' with it, but it is how it is,” he said. 

“No, it isn't,” Megatron argued. “Nothing is simply what it is, it's something that's been put to place. And I'm not in a habit of submitting to meaningless arrangements like that.” 

“Oh, sure, it's only the law,” Optimus replied. 

Megatron stared him down, stern and unblinking. “It's the law of a government I tore down. The law of a government that you are not even bound by.” 

Optimus crossed his arms and huffed, now with irking of his own. “Your word games are meaningless, as are your convictions and dramatics, Megatron. This – “ he gestured around them, at their prison and the datapad with the order on it on the table, “is all consequences from your action. From all of our actions. We deserve so much worse than this, and if the extent of it is to go outside when I didn't plan to, I'll take it.” He spoke slowly and quietly, hoping that at least some of his message would get through to Megatron this time around. 

He was faced with a cold iron wall that was Megatron's unyielding posture and his attitude. “You want it to control you, don't you?” he asked. “You want to pretend that you have to do these things, that there's no other way and that you deserve everything. You would have thanked your executioner, that's how desperate you are.” 

Optimus gave him a cold look and said nothing. He didn't want to do this now, he didn't want to do any of this at all. Two weeks of mostly silent treatment, and all any of it came down to was just another argument. And it was about to become a fight too, Megatron was pushing his buttons again by being his unreasonable self, and despite his best efforts to keep calm Optimus felt the tell-tale prickling of anger. 

“And you would kill every living creature in a galaxy and still insist that it's your right because you were strong enough to do it,” Optimus snapped back, his voice chilly. “This little protest of yours comes from nothing but pride and selfishness, and if you had even a shred of decency you'd just cooperate.” 

Megatron scoffed at him and finally got up from his place. He circled the table so it was no longer between them and stayed by the other wall with his back to the doors to the study and the berthroom. He straightened into his full height and tilted his helm to the side to study Optimus with that slightly condescending way, so certain of himself and absolutely refusing to admit to anything. 

“You know I never cared about the laws. You shouldn't be so surprised that I still don't,” Megatron noted.

Optimus took an invent so deep he shuddered with it, but it did nothing to calm him down. “You're so thankless and selfish! Our species has been through millions of stellar cycles of war and now all that's asked of you and me is a shred of justice to appease them. When justice is served we can move forward, we can move from this horror and mess, and you still hold your personal freedom above it!”

Megatron was measuring him with his gaze, and now his gaze snapped back up to Optimus' face. He glared at him from under his ridges and his forehelm. “Laws don't dictate morals, and laws don't dictate what's just,” he said.

Optimus groaned. “Don't start splitting strings! I _know_ that! But the court system and the laws are the best we got, and those bring order and security.” 

“Once again, things I couldn't care less about,” Megatron responded through his dentae. 

Optimus had had just about enough. He had tried, and nothing had changed. Nothing had come of anything he had given, and he had given everything he had. “Let's talk about the real justice then,” he said. “The real morals, those that aren't written down anywhere but are in our code.” He knew he was speaking too fast and that his anger was evident and did no favors for any sort of attempt at rationality, but he felt it burning like a pure white flame so hot it felt like a frostbite and he was too tired to smother it. 

Megatron met the shift in Optimus' tone by sliding into a proper battle stance, his helm up and optics aflame. 

Optimus stared back at him, fuming. “Let's talk about what your war has done. Let's talk about how your quest for absolute power and revenge destroyed our homeworld, terminated millions, transformed our entire species into murderers, and how you almost destroyed another world with sentient, living beings living upon it! Let's talk about that, and how much you now owe for the survivors since no matter how much you suffered in the previous system, it certainly doesn't buy you free murdering rights for all eternity!” 

“I know my deeds and my responsibility,” Megatron growled back at him, “and it's not me alone. Everyone joined, and don't you dare to tell me that Autobot soldiers never did anything that Decepticons did! All the bitterness and suffering on this world made the war, and no matter how much you'd like to count husks, there are now those who will never go back into the dark.”

Optimus bit his dentae together and cycled air through his system, trying to regain control over himself so he wouldn't yell, or worse, close the distance between them and start shaking the other. 

“We deserve this. You deserve this. For pulling everyone into the Pit and twisting them beyond any point of return,” he managed to force out. The words tasted bitter. “Isn't that enough? Haven't you had enough?” 

Then Megatron did the worst possible thing he could have done: he scoffed in dismissal, and that simple sound struck Optimus like an actual physical blow. “Again with the deserving this and deserving that... Where's the scale that measures that, huh?”

Optimus couldn't take it anymore. He didn't know what made him angrier, the frustration, the selfishness or the dismissal of not only his words but of so much life lost, but when he spoke again he didn't recognize the sharp desperate edges in his own voice: ” _You_ have made us this way! Why isn't anything enough?! All of our kind are soldiers and murderers now because of you! I am... I am _this_ now, because of you!”

Something about that struck Megatron too, and finally his cool exterior cracked and fury twisted his face into a snarl as he yelled back: ”Yes, you are a Prime! The strongest one of us! The legendary warrior Optimus Prime! _Clearly_ you are the most wronged here!” His words were harsh and his tone dripping with poison, and finally they were on the same subject with matching levels of intensity, both angry and insulted.

Optimus felt something deep inside of him stir and come loose, like something he had carefully contained for so long had finally been discovered, the acid finally corroding through its container and hissing and burning as it spilled. ”What I am is a war machine! I don't belong here, I don't belong among the people, I don't belong even among my own friends!” he yelled. “Because of you I have become this, a warrior to match you, and now time has passed me by and I am just a killing machine everyone is afraid of! I don't belong here, in this world, in this age, and that's your fault!”

Megatron was clearly taken aback. Perhaps he hadn't ever seen Optimus despair like this, and for a moment he was at loss for words. ”That's not it,” he argued then. “I challenged you, and you rose to that challenge! Don't you dare diminish that just because it has made you strong!”

Optimus felt his shoulder heaving with his venting. The acid inside him burned. ”I didn't want to be strong! I never wanted to hurt anyone! I didn't want the war, the Matrix, this... This burden that has set me apart!”

Out of all things Megatron looked insulted. ”And I wanted it all. Don't you dare to spit on the things I would have given _everything_ to have!”

And as suddenly as the anger had flared, it stilled. Optimus felt the steam leaving his system, his shoulders slumped and all that remained were the burnt out remains of his fury. And it too had been in vain. “You just don't understand,” he said. 

The change in tone confused Megatron again, and now he didn't have anything to go against either. He was quiet, still clearly angry, but there was mostly frustration in his glare now. 

“Stay here then, see what happens,” Optimus sighed. When he turned around and walked out of the situation, he felt defeated. 

Megatron came out of his shock. “He- Hey! Don't walk away from me!” 

It sounded like he was about to come after him, and so Optimus just threw a tired glare over his shoulder and said: “I go where I please, and I'm not asking you to follow.” 

Megatron stopped where he was and didn't try to reignite the argument again. The silence was bitter. 

The official order didn't indeed include any sort of guidelines about when and where they should go, and Optimus made sure of it by reading it carefully through once more. What the message did include was just a temporary override code for the locks in the doors of the building, and they would be viable for an entire solar cycle from the sixth cycle of this morning. 

Optimus memorized the codes, drank enough energon to carry him through the day, and exited the apartment alone. Megatron had retreated back to the berthroom, nowhere to be seen. 

It was strange to enter the city like this, alone and unguarded. The streets were very crowded and noisy and the open space hit Optimus with a frightening force when he stepped out of the lobby. He stood still for a moment with his back against the wall and gathered himself for a while, getting used to the freedom he now had for the next solar cycle. It was almost like a too quick overcharge, but he didn't let himself dwell too long on it but forced himself on the move.

He chose to walk because his alien vehicle mode would draw too much attention. And even though he was getting some curious glances from the bots passing him on the street, no one looked the third time and there was no crowd forming around him. Optimus was thankful for this, but he had to wonder what made him blend in here in Iacon when he didn't have the same advantages as he had in Kaon. 

He didn't know where he was going either, and he didn't think too much of it. This was his home city, and even though it had been renovated and rebuilt and some of the streets just weren't there anymore, it was enough alike the old version that he didn't get too badly lost. For a klik he considered going to the Memorial Park, but he had barely the time to even think that when he found he didn't actually want to go there. 

No, he wanted to go somewhere fun. He wanted to see something beautiful, something that would ease his mind and take his thoughts away from the duties and the heavy bitterness of defeat he had suffered with Megatron. For a few moon cycles it had felt like actual progress had been made, but this morning felt like all of that had suddenly been lost. Back to square one, that was what it seemed like, and the entire journey from the very beginning with all of those arguments and the trip to Kaon suddenly felt meaningless.

And just as that thought passed his mind, Optimus suddenly knew where he wanted to go. 

The Hall of Records was one of those buildings that had been almost entirely destroyed, but its ruins were impressive and some of the walls still stood, unlike every other driveway and building around it. The Hall of Records had been a massive building, even bigger than some temples, universities or governing establishments, an ancient and treasured complex consisting of tall towers and arching halls covered with shiny golden and chrome rooftops. During the late stages of the War for Cybertron the Hall of Records had served as one of the last Autobot bases, going from an esteemed library into a headquarters, and the battle wounds suffered were still evident in what little was left. 

And still, Optimus recognized it. Many of the halls had been destroyed all the way down to their foundations and only lines of steel and stones on the ground outlined places where they had once been, but the main nave was still mostly there along with some of its wings and a few towers. Formerly bright steel and gold were now rugged and blackened in places, most of the rooftops had been bombed to oblivion and none of the former decorative lights were lit, but some of the Hall's former function had been restored. Some of the wings had been hastily rebuilt and the main nave was covered with a temporary roof of tarp and steel scaffoldings, and something akin to a library was attempted there. 

By the time Optimus had found his way to what was left of the Hall, the word of his outing had spread enough for there to be a crowd. Not a large or suffocating one, but clearly a crowd that was there to catch a glimpse of him or maybe even talk to him, but he didn't see any familiar faces and didn't care to look for them for long either. There was some curious chatter, a whisper going through the crowd, and Optimus focused on to tune it out. He walked towards the Hall of Records and intended to find someone working there to tell him what exactly was happening there, something proper to do now that he was watched like this. This kind of attention was new to him, being followed from the distance, chattered about and admired. He wondered if the previous Primes had been used to attention like this and if this was what being a Prime had generally been. To Optimus it had been being a sword and a shield for his people, the leader of an army and a pinnacle of hope and values in a war. There was nothing familiar about this to him. Briefly he thought about his predecessor, Sentinel Prime, and how he had served as this idle thing to be fawned at and admired, and how the Decepticons had ended him before the war even properly began. Sentinel Prime had never bore the Matrix. 

The crowd kept their distance from Optimus but followed him to the ruins of the Hall of Records, and the open space filled up. A strong sense of nostalgia overwhelmed Optimus as he stepped inside the ruins, the same place where he had been assigned to as soon as his programming had been completed by the Well. One could say that the Hall of Records was the place Optimus knew best, and even now in its ruins under an open sky he could bring it back into its former glory inside his mind.

He knew that where he was now standing had been the entrance hall. It had had an information desk and a call center, hallways to all the wings and towers, a line of elevators and the signing station where all the employees checked themselves in and out. Now all that remained were the curving golden steps that had once led to the station, all else was gone. 

Optimus stood there, surrounded by a crowd, back in the beginning. He stared at those golden stairs and wondered how many times had he walked them in his lifetime. The nostalgia was even stronger now that the remains of the hall was as packed as it has been during every time a major shift had changed. 

Optimus didn't pick anything unusual from the crowd, just chatter and curious whispering. _Prime... Prime! It is the Prime, I'm sure it is. Yes, the Prime._ He didn't think anything about the voice that called for him: “Prime! Optimus Prime!” even though that someone was the only voice that was calling to him, wanting to talk to him.

Optimus barely turned his attention towards the voice when it was close to him and saw a small bot with a familiar, featureless helm and an armouring like the vehicons had, only with the Decepticon shield burned away. 

“Optimus Prime!” the bot called with their archaic vocalizer, toneless and static-laced, “Prime the world killer! Prime the pacifier! Give us back the All-Spark!” 

Something about that voice made Optimus' battle protocols online, and he shivered, bracing himself. Only the protocols glitched and an error message was received, his weapons systems were disabled and even his swords locked down. He was unarmed, and with that thought came a panicked realization that he was in a large crowd of civilian bots who had also noticed the bot approaching him. The chattering had quieted down and bots were hesitantly shuffling back, but not fast enough. 

There was a blinking red light peeking under the bot's miner's armouring. “Our true form has been revealed!” they yelled, and Optimus barely had the time to lift his arms to cover his faceplate before the blinking light flashed and the bomb it was attached to went off. 

Optimus heard the first boom of the explosion and felt the heat and the push of the shock wave, but the sound cut off before he felt what it did to his plating, and he didn't see, hear or feel anything after that point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> Rip.


End file.
